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BETHLEHEM 



BETHLEHEM SCHOOL 



BY 

C. B. MORTIMER, 

AUTHOR OP "MORTON MONTAGUE." 



^NEW YORK : 
STANFOKD & DELISSEPv, 608 BROADWAY, 

1858. 



iy- 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S5S, Ly 

STANFOED & DELISSEE, 

In 'he Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 

Southern District of New York. 



PREFACE. 

The Author of the following sketches of " Beth- 
lehem and Bethlehem School," in presenting the 
First Series to the public, deems it proper to state 
that it is no work of fiction, written to amuse and 
while away a passing hour, but altogether what it 
professes to be — simple narrations of facts of the 
different individual characters mentioned, leaflets 
of memory from the pages of childhood. Most of 
them, it will be perceived, are of Teachers and 
Scholars, contemporaries of mine at the School, to 
one and all of whom I dedicate this volume, w^ith 
the hope thereby of not only thus recalling myself 
to their remembrance, but that the perusal of these 
bygones of ours may be as productive of pleasure 
to these former school associates of mine at Beth- 
lehem, as this simple record of " Auld Lang Syne '' 
reminiscences has afforded me in penning them. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Introductory Chapter, . .7 

Moravians settle in Georgia. — The undertaking abandoned. — Mr. "White- 
field invites them to Nazareth.— Founding of the settlement of Beth- 
lehem. — Arrival of Settlers. — Eevolutionary "War trials.— Count Pu- 
laski. — Hymn of the Moravian Nuns. — Continuation of the "War. — 
Bishop Ettwein and the President.— Establishment of Schools. — 
Commencement of Bethlehem Boarding School. — Ketrospection. — 
Leaving Home. — Entering Bethlehem School. — Reminiscences. — Ya- 
rieties of Character.— Unfortunates. — First impressions.— School Ap- 
pellations. 

Mammy Schindler, 29. 

Her home. — Her situation.— Primitive Moravians. — Tho Mammy's sup- 
port.— Goodness of Heart.— "Visits New York.— Becomes blind. — 
"Wishes to die.— Is very ill.— Shrinks from Death. — Desires to Live. — 
Dies. 

Pappy Heckewelder and the Ghost of Bethlehem, . . 42 
An early Friend. — Our first meeting. — -The Missionaries.— -An Apostle. — 
Old Times. — Circumstances.— Garden.— "Writing Books.— Mr. Dupon- 
ceau. — Eev. Mr. Mortimer. — Kindness. — The Stranger. — Marriage. — 
Suicide.— The fearless Brother.— The Ghost.-*-The Spectre's Pun- 
ishment, 

The Twin Single Sisters, 63 

The Sisters' Home. — Peculiarities.— The "Werners.— Happy Poverty.— A 
Proposal of Marriage. — The Sisters' Affection. — Sufferings.- The Deci- 
sion. — The Pledge. — Affection. — Pleasant Anticipations. — Birthday 
Preparations.— The Serenade. — Presents. — Birthday Levee.— Love- 
feast.— Death. 

Bethlehem School, . 80 

Teachers.— Scholars.— Characters. 



6 CONTENTS. 

PACT! 

Katie Sullivan and Sister Mock, 84 

The Farmer and his "Wife. — The Brother and Sister.— Prejudices.— The 
Stepmother. — Katie. — Sister Mock. — A Character. — Disposition. — In- 
sult. — Threatened Eevenge. — Sister II .—Expostulation.— The Se- 
cret Resolve. — The Sisters' Festival. — The Proposition. — The Eobbery. 
— The Discovery. — Passion. — Opprobrious Epithets. — Visitors.— Map:- 
gie Slocum. — Invitation to Tea. — The Secret Meeting. —Katie's Oath.— 
Preparation. — The Disguise. — The Trick. — Katie's nice Tea. — The 
Surprise. — The Suspected. — Influence of a Character. — Appreciation. 
— Improvement. — Eifect of Kindness. — Proposed Amusement. — Exhi- 
bition. — Katie's Performance. — Another Insult— Consequence. — The 
Eevenge. — Eemorse. — Penitence. — Confession. — Forgiveness. — Good 
Qualities. — The Eunaways.— Katie's Godmother.— The Legacy. — Eet- 
ribution. — Eeunion. 

Sister Maria, 135 

The Black and White Sisters.— The Diflference.— The Separation. — A pain- 
ful Eumor.— Sad Facts. — The Slavemother's Death.— Maria's Agony. — 
Eavings — Sympathy. — The Promise. — Sensitiveness. — Talent Devel- 
oped. — Music and Singing. — Painful Eecognition. — Agitation. — The 
Father's Brother. — The Uncle's Ward. — Poor Betsey. — A proposed 
Gift.— One Hundred Dollars. — The Piano.— A new Situation.— The 
little West Indian. — Mary Young. — The Musical Soiree. — The Prima 
Donna.— The Demon.— The Performance.— The foul Fiend working, 
— The unsuspecting Teacher. — Poor Sister Maria. — Tlie Envenomed 
Dart.— Death-blow.— The Yictira.— That dark stain.— The wailing of a 
breaking heart. — Anticipations of Heaven. — Eemorse of Mary Young. 
— Eepentance. — The Stinger and the Stung. — Fancies of the Dying.— 
The Conflict and the Eesult— Prayer and Pardon.— Sister Maria's 
last Lay.— The bruised Spirit at rest.— The Human Scourge. 

Lizzie Gould, ... . 182 

A restless and unquiet Nature.— Carrying on. — Eccentricities.- Bygone 
Years. — Fun and Frolic. — Mischief — The Bull. — A way to get Apples. 
— A Sam Patch Leap. — The Pumping Frolic. — Sport and Enjoyment. — 
The Alarm. — Ihe Luckless OflTender. — Somnambulism. — The Acci- 
dent. — Eemoval from School. 

Daddy Thomas, 199 

The Daddy of Daddies. — Delineation of Character. — The Daddy and the 
little Girls.— Forbidden Fruit.— The Stolen Kiss.— The Arrival.— The 
Lady.— Little Lina.— The print of the dear Old Hand. 



INTRODUCTOEY CHAPTER. 

Who lias not heard of Bethlehem ? — its School, 
or its various Institutions ? — or rather, where is there 
a district of inhabited country of any extent, in any 
of the old States especially, which does not contain 
at least an individual possessed of some knowledge 
of the place or people — or had some connection or 
acquaintance to sojourn there, either as visitor or 
pupil, in this cradle of the Moravian Society in the 
New World — this nursery of their missionary effort 
in America, and this principal and favorite gather- 
ing resort of their people from Europe. 

This settlement of the Moravians was commenced 
in 1741, — hence it is now nearly one hundred and 
twenty years old. It was settled in the same way 
as most of the settlements of the Society originally 
were — namely, by a colony of their own people, 
and with the understanding that it was to be in 
every sense of the word a Moravian settlement ; to 
secure which object they made a purchase of suf- 
ficient land, for the purpose of enabling them to 



O MORAYIAXS SETTLE IN GEORGIA. 

conduct all the various business of life, including 
farming, among themselves, upon their own united 
property, and, of course, under their especial eccle- 
siastical jurisdiction and influence. 

This party of Moravians, however, did not di- 
rectly go to this place from their native land, it be- 
ing their intention when they left Europe to locate 
themselves elsewhere. In truth these persons were 
the first of their Society who emigrated to this 
country — and they came all together for missionary 
purposes — to carry the gospel to the Indians and 
I^egroes of Georgia and South Carolina, as an in 
ducement to which enterprise a tract of land in the 
latter State had been offered them by the Trustees 
of the Georgia Company through General Ogle- 
thorpe, the then Governor of that colony, which 
oiFer was immediately accepted. 

Here they remained several years, their history 
tells us, with encouraging prospects of usefulness ; 
but presently their efforts were interrupted by 
some Spaniards who lived in their neighborhood. 
These people, who occupied this region of country 
previous to the English, became jealous of them ; 
and the two nations being then at war with each 
other, they made use of the opportunity it afforded 
of showing an unfriendly disposition to the repre- 
sentatives of that country resident among them, 
which resulted in the Spaniards determining to 
expel all the English by force of arms from Georgia. 
Hostilities hereupon took place between the con- 



THE UNDERTAKING ABANDONED. 9 

tending parties, when the Moravians were called 
upon to take a part, which they promptly refused 
to do, being, like the " Friends," opposed to fight- 
ing. For this reason, ere they entered npon this 
mission they had obtained, from the proper au- 
thorities of England, a legal exemption from the 
performance of any personal military service what- 
ever. Hereupon their situation, it is said, became 
really so unpleasant as to render it advisable for 
them altogether to withdraw from this field of labor 
for another, where they would not be subjected to 
the like annoyances. 

Thus this first settlement of the Moravians in 
America was entirely abandoned after the period 
of five years. Yet they did not all leave until they 
determined where to go ; and as some of their 
number had wended their way two years before to 
Pennsylvania, and were continuing there Avithout 
any such molestation, the remainder resolved at 
once to join them. This occurred in 1740. But 
they were not permanently located there, nor had 
the Society as yet any organized settlement in Penn- 
sylvania, — neither had they established themselves 
anywhere in this countr}^ — the only representatives 
of their people being the small band of unsettled 
missionaries of wdiom I am now speaking. How- 
ever, it was the intention of the Society to plant 
themselves in this country, as soon as Providence 
should direct them where to do so ; and it so hap- 
pened that almost directly afterwards this took place. 



10 MR. WHITEFIELD INVITES THEM TO NAZAJiETH. 

It seems that among these Moravians were some 
who were acquainted with the celebrated Mr. 
Whitefield. This reverend gentleman had pur- 
chased the land on which Nazareth is situated, for 
philanthropic j)urposes, where he j^urposed to build 
a schoolhouse for the instruction of the negroes. 
For some unexplained reason he now w^ished some 
one else to undertake the business, wdiich caused 
him to invite the Moravians there, when he oifered 
the project to them, w^hich they gladly accepted, as 
it promised them the means of support as well as a 
prospect of forming a community of their own ; 
and presently afterwards, Mr. Whitefield being ne- 
cessitated to dispose of this property, they purchased 
it, and thus it came entirely under their control. 

Yet ITazareth was not the first settlement of the 
Society in Pennsylvania, for previous to this cir- 
cumstance occurring, a gentleman ofiTered to sell 
them some land at a very reasonable rate upon the 
forks of the Delaware, on a branch or tributary 
stream now called the Lehigh river. This ofifer, 
like the other, was readily accepted, and here all 
the colonists who went first to Georgia and South 
Carolina found a home ; and these w^ere tlie original 
settlers of Bethlehem. 

The colonists immediately began to build a regu- 
lar Moravian settlement, after the pattern of those 
already established in Germany. They commenced 
it in the winter of 1741 ; and such was the severity 
of the weather at that time, at this season of the 



FOUNDING OF THE SETTLEMENT OF BETHLEHEM. 11 

year, that in felling the trees in the forest the work- 
men stood above their knees in the snow. And we 
are told that amono^ tliose who toiled the hardest 
and most faithfully in this enterj^rise, so hazardous 
to health and life, was a venerable Moravian emi- 
grant of the name of David I^itschman, who had 
nearly reached the allotted period of man upon 
earth, being nearly seventy years of age. And it 
is further stated, that this zealous man of God 
yielded to none of his brethren in cheerful and per- 
severing industry, resolutely determining to endure 
every hardship, and spend his remaining strength 
in laying the foundation of a settlement, which he 
trusted in God would prove in America, what 
Herrnhut, their mother church, had already become 
in Europe — the nursery of many faithful laborers 
in the vineyard of the Lord. 

And he with his company toiled so industriously 
and perseveringly, that when Count Zinzendorf "^ 
arrived at the place, which was towards the close 
of the same year, a small farmhouse and stable 
were entirely completed, while a larger building 
called the congregation house was being erected. 
The stable was immediately converted into a sanc- 
tuary ; and here the colonists celebrated the next 
Christmas festival. On account of this circum- 
stance, they resolved to call the new settlement by 
tlie name of Bethlehem. 

* The gre^t patron of the Moravians in Germany. 



12 ~ ARRIVAL OF SETTLERS. 

It consisted then, I believe, of about twent}^ 
persons ; but early in the succeeding summer, quite 
an accession was made to their number by the ar-' 
rival of nearly one hundred of their people from 
Europe, which increased the congregation to one 
hundred and twenty persons. 

As space cannot be afforded here, and besides, 
I intend in another volume to give a more particu- 
lar narration of the formation of this settlement — 
also to describe some of the very peculiar arrange- 
ments made at that time in relation to the domestic 
management and government of this little Moravian 
community by Count Zinzendorf, Bishop Spangen- 
berg, and others ; also to inform my readers of 
some of the means adopted to provide for the 
maintenance of all this needy and destitute popu- 
lation ; to tell what regulations were established 
to furnish each with constant employment, food 
and raiment, together with the contrivances made 
use of to raise sufficient funds to defray all the ne- 
cessary expenses of the undertaking, as well as to 
successfully carry out the original design of tliis 
settlement, of making it the great starting-point for 
the missionary enterprise of the Society on the 
western continent : — all this, as I purpose to speak 
of fully elsewhere, it is unnecessary for me to say 
more of them at the present than this brief notice. 

The general history of Bethlehem, too, contains 
some interesting facts, which I would gladly detail 
to my readers, but am compelled to omit them for 



REVOLUTIONARY AVAR TRIALS. 13 

want of room, — besides, as the object of this vol- 
lune is to speak abnost altogether of individual 
characters, I have put a restriction upon my pen in 
reference to this subject, and can therefore only find 
place for a few items. 

To begin with the Revolutionary War. — It com- 
menced between thirty and forty years after this 
settlement was formed, during which interval it 
had considerably increased and greatly prospered. 
But it suffered much during our national struggle 
for independence ; for being in the route of the 
army, and a convenient locality for the purpose, the 
Americans established a military hospital in the 
place ; and it became the depot of all the military 
stores and baggage belonging to the American 
army, while the greater portion of the town was 
converted into barracks for the soldiery. 

And at the very beginning of hostilities the set- 
tlement was visited by a considerable number of 
strangers, among whom were several members of 
Congress, with other persons of distinction, the 
most distinguished of whom was the venerated and 
illustrious chief, the commander of the Colonial 
forces and father of this glorious Republic — Gen- 
eral Washington. He was presently followed by 
his faithful ally and friend. General Lafayette. He 
came not however attended with all the parapher- 
nalia and state befitting his exalted rank, but borne 
upon a rude litter and wounded. And at Beth- 
lehem he was nursed and cured ; and it was from 



14: " COUNT PULASKI. 

tlience fully recovered he went forth to fight again 
tlie battles of our country. 

And here too came Count Pulaski, an honored 
guest ; the noble Pole, who j)erislied in this terrible 
conflict for our freedom. And he carried with him 
to battle a flag embroidered by some of the sister- 
hood of Bethlehem ; which circumstance has since 
been perpetuated in verse by the American poet, 
Longfellow, and as it is very beautiful, I here tran- 
scribe it. 

Yet ere I do so, I would correct an error which 
the poet has made in supposing that the Moravian 
sisterliood were an order of nuns ; and that in the 
religious observances of these houses, the Society 
assimilate to the Pomanists, which is altogether a 
mistake ; neither was any incense oflfered in their 
church services, save that alone which arose from 
their pious hearts in its exercises of prayer and 
praise ; nor did those wdio ministered in holy things 
among them, their clergy, ever wear a cowl — unless 
the little black velvet German cap, which used to 
be so quaintly perched just upon the top of their 
heads, and a common appendage to their dress, can 
be denominated by this appellation. 



HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS. 15 



pnmn of iljc glorafjiait P'lins at iljc Constcration; of 
IJuIaslu's §annxr. 

[The standard of Count Pulaski, the noble Pole, who fell in the attack upon 
Savannah during the American Eevolution, was of crimson silk, embroi(!ered 
by the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, in Pennsylvania.] 

" "When the dying flame of day, 

Through the chancel shot its ray, 

Far the gUmmering tapers shed 

Faint light on the cowled head. 

And the censer burning swung, 

Where before the altar hung 

The proud banner, that with prayer 

Had been consecrated there. 
And the Nuns' sweet hymn w^as heard the while 
Sung low in the dim mysterious aisle. 

" ' Take thy banner ! may it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave 
When the battle's distant wail 
Breaks the sabbath of our vale, 
When the cliirion's music thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills. 
When the spear in conflict shakes, 
And the strong lance shivering breaks. 

" ' Take thy banner ! and beneath 
The war cloud's encirchng wreath, 
Guard it — till our homes are free, 
Guard it — God will prosper thee ! 
In the dark and trying hour, 
In the breaking forth of power, 
In the rush of steeds and men. 
His right hand will shield thee then. 



16 CONTINUATION OF THE WAK. 

" ' Take thy banner ! but when night 
Closes round the ghastly fight, 
If the vanquished warriox' bow — 
Spare him ! — by our holy vow, 
By our prayers and many tears, 
By the mercy that endears. 
Spare him — he our love hath shared, 
Spare him — as thou would'st be spared. 

" ' Take thy banner ! and if e'er 

Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, 

And the muffled drum should beat 

To the tread of mournful feet, 

Then this crimson flag shall be. 

Martial cloak and shroud for thee.' 
And the warrior took that banner proud. 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud." 

Bethlehem continued to be more or less occu- 
pied by the American army for at least eighteen 
months of the war ; whicli circumstance was at- 
tended with a great deal of inconvenience and 
trouble to the settlement, independent of the ex- 
pense it occasioned, — a part of which, as it will 
be detailed in another volume, is omitted here. 
Suffice it therefore at the present to say, that all 
the natural evil results of its appropriation by Gov- 
ernment were experienced, but rendered the more 
trying and difficult, because of the peculiar char- 
acter of the people belonging to the place. For 
the presence of so many strangers, of such va- 
rious classes and dispositions, among a people so 
thoroughly abstracted from the world as they were, 



BISHOP ETTWEIN AND THE PRESIDENT. 17 

and whose principles and characters were diamet- 
rically opposed to theirs, were all calculated, it was 
supposed, to produce an injurious effect upon this 
simple-minded and primitive Moravian community. 

As it was, they were a source of considerable 
annoyance to the inhabitants ; and the tumult and 
consequent confusion they occasioned were so great, 
that when the President with some members of 
Congress passed through the settlement on their 
flight from Philadelphia, they gave orders for the 
immediate removal of the prisoners, and furnished 
the Society with a letter of protection, which se- 
cured the lives and property of the inhabitants. 

It was at this period, I believe, that the desire 
was expressed, and an application made, to turn 
the Sisters' House of Bethlehem into the Congres- 
sional Hall of the nation, which excited the right- 
eous indignation of the good Bishop resident there. 

" And where w^ould you have us put our sisters ? " 
inquired Bishop Ettwein. 

" Why the best way to dispose of them," replied 
the President, "would be to marry all the young ones 
off, and make hospital nurses of the rest." 

" Neither one or the other shall be done with my 
consent," answered the Bishop, quite excited, " and 
1 beg you not to say any thing more about it ;" and 
so the subject was dropped. 

The war had scarcely closed, ere an important 
change was made at Bethlehem, which has resulted 
in much benefit to the Society : this was the estab- 



18 ^ESTABLISHMENT OF SCHOOLS. 

lisbment of a Boarding-School for Young Ladies. 
It is true, that Institutions of learning for either 
sex, previously existed in this, as well as in the 
other important settlements of the Moravians ; in- 
deed were almost coeval with the existence of the 
place ; but with this difference, that until then at 
Bethlehem its pupils had been confined exclusively 
to the children belonging to their own denomi- 
nation, were comparatively few in number, and 
restricted in their studies. But at this period, in 
consequence of repeated and numerous applica- 
tions out of the pale of the Society for the like priv- 
ilege, arrangements were made to receive such schol- 
ars, and to furnish the requisite instruction for a 
good, plain, substantial education. This occurred 
about seventy years ago, when a building was se- 
lected for the purpose. 

It was commenced in one of the oldest build- 
ings in the place, — in a house which had I believe 
always previously been used as a school for the 
daughters of the resident population, besides those 
of their ministers, and missionaries; and here it 
continued to flourish with various success for thirty 
years, when it was removed to the present estab- 
lishment, also one of the ancient buildings of the 
settlement, being the Single Brethren's House of 
that community, and occupied by them for the 
space of nearly seventy years. They now vacated 
the premises. Immediately afterwards it was al- 
tered and arranged for its present purpose, which 



COMMENCEMENT OF BETHLEHEM BOAEDING" SCHOOL. 19 

completed, the school was transferred there ; now 
more than forty years ago. 

Apart from tlie local interest attached to this 
edifice by the Moravian people themselves, from 
having been one of tlie peculiar Institutions of the 
Society, is another which concerns more partic- 
ularly the American public generally, for during 
the Revolutionary War it was twice converted into 
a hospital for the Continental army, where it con- 
tained at one time seven hundred invalid soldiers, 
upwards of three hundred of whom it is said died 
within a few months, and were buried in the vicin- 
ity. 

There were few if any Boarding-Schools for 
Young Ladies in this country at that date : this cir- 
cumstance, together with the character of the So- 
ciety, and the favorable impression it produced 
upon the public mind, caused Bethlehem School 
to be directly patronized, and it soon became a cele- 
brated Institution. And many of the first families 
in the United States, together with some from the 
West Indies, sent their daughters thither, for the 
purpose of obtaining at least a part of their educa- 
tion. 

It was here I took my place as a little girl, and 
continued at school for a space of rather more 
than six years ; and it is of the circumstances and 
events I then learnt both by observation and hearsay 
of the acquaintances I then formed, besides, from sub- 
sequent inquiries and facts gathered, that the con- 



20 RETROSPECTION. 

tents of this volume are formed. And now, in re- 
viewing this portion of my life, let my readers 
travel retrogradingly with me through the vista of 
by-gone years, to one delightful afternoon in May, 
near the close of which I entered Bethlehem, for 
the purpose of becoming one of the pupils of its 
school. And while I write, how distinctly 1 re- 
member many of the circumstances attending this 
momentous affair, in which I w^as so deeply inter- 
ested. 

I recollect the parting scene with all my family 
was at home ; for my mother being an invalid, and 
my father so much and so thoroughly engaged 
in the duties of his vocation, including which was 
the reviving a congregation he had found in a lan- 
guishing condition, that he gladly embraced the 
opportunity of sending me thither, with some friends 
who were going on to attend the examination, and 
had kindly offered to take charge of me. 

It is a great event in the history of any little 
girl, to be sent away from home to boarding-school ; 
but when situated as I had always previousl}^ 
been, it was really a very trying circumstance. In 
truth, it was my first separation, even for a single 
day, from my parents ; nor had I ever before been 
absent from their watchful eye, gentle tender care, 
or affectionate, parental guardianship. I was al- 
ways with them, and besides had no intimate 
companionship but with the members of our own 
immediate family; and in that loved and domestic 



LEA.VING HOME. 21 

circle, were clustered all the affections and kindly 
sympathies, which cast such a charm about home 
to a young and sensitive nature. And now, I was 
23arting from these endeared scenes of my childhood, 
my parents, little sister and brother, old nurse At- 
kins, the presiding genius of our nursery, who had 
always been so indulgent and kind to all her charge. 
I was leaving these blessings, to be launched anew 
into life ; to take my place, and play my part in a 
little world of which I was really ignorant, though 
I had heard much concerning it. 

For as from my infancy it was a settled under- 
standing that I should spend some years at least at 
Bethlehem School, my parents had made it their 
duty to prepare me for it. For this reason, I was 
purposely told a great deal in relation to the place 
and the people, in order to make me interested 
in them, and both my father and mother had spoken 
so judiciously to me upon the subject, and were so 
composed and cheerful all the while, that I became 
perfectly reconciled to the idea of going there. 
Their representations of Bethlehem were so beauti- 
ful, as to impress my young mind with the fancy, 
that it was the most delightful spot in the world to 
live in — in short, I believed that there I should en- 
joy almost heavenly felicity. Hence no marvel if 
my future existence there seemed pictured on my 
mind's eye, as bright and joyous as in my own 
loved home. My parents however had no idea of 
giving me erroneous impressions ; but I was naturally 



22 ENTERING BETHLEHEM SCHOOL. 

of a strong, hopeful, imaginative disposition — always 
inclined to have pleasant anticipations, and believ- 
ed that life there would be even as I desired. 

In truth, I was in the first dream of childhood, 
ere it has awakened at all to the sad realities of 
life. I was taking the world upon trust, and guided 
altogether by impressions and appearances. Hence 
I left home without much reluctance and hesitation 
on my part, aye, perhaps quite pleased with the 
change. 

I went in a private carriage, and we took nearly 
three days to accomplish a journey which can now 
be performed in almost as few hours. At first 1 
kept my spirits up by the excitement of travel ; 
but presently I began to feel lonely and sad ; and 
by the time I arrived at Bethlehem I was very 
home-sick — and I had been there but a few hours, 
ere I became oppressed by a new and painful 
feeling. It was that isolation of heart produced 
by the realizing sense of being now shut out from 
the presence of all those tender and endearing sym- 
pathies, which render life so precious to a child at 
home. 

This caused a horribly distressing sensation ; and 
being entirely new to me, I did not comprehend di- 
j'ectly what was really the matter, but believed ni}^- 
self very ill ; and then how many aches and pains 
I imagined I had ; and I remember, too, how my 
condition at first excited the commiseration of my 
teachers and some of mj schoolmates ; also, how 



REMINISCENCES. 23 

tliey tried to cheer and console me, but all in vain. 
I refused to be comforted, and fretted until I ac- 
tually did become quite sick. Then the former 
scolded me, which almost broke my heart, and said 
some things to me which only aggravated my dis- 
tress. Indeed, I was as wretchedly imhappy in 
feeling as I possibly could be, — and I know not 
what would have been the result, had not some 
kind friends of my parents, resident in the place, 
opportunely interfered, and by the attention and 
sympatliizing interest they manifested on the oc- 
casion, so won upon me, as to reconcile me in some 
degree to my forlorn distressed situation. 

But a truce to these reminiscenes of painful 
memoi-ies of my childhood ; and I pass from them 
to speak of a portion of the events which transpired 
while at Bethlehem, together with some of the 
characters with whom I became acquainted while 
there, both among the inhabitants of the settlement, 
and belono-ino^ to the School. 

In doing this, I liave quite a variety of mate- 
rials to draw upon ; but I have selected only those 
individuals and subjects, which I considered espe- 
cially as belonging to this work, most of which will 
be found to contain either a moral or some strik- 
ing facts. 

Tlie world is made up of all sorts of characters ; 
and there seems to be as great a variety of them, 
as mark the human face divine. "We realize this 
ti-uth constantly wherever we go ; in the population 



24 VAKIETIES OF CHARACTER. 

of a small town, as well as in a large city ; in a 
steamboat, public assembly, or in any other gather- 
ed throng ; yea, wherever the different grades of 
society are to be met with, — aye indeed, in every 
rank and condition of life, human nature is found 
in countless varieties of character, disposition, hab- 
its, and manners ; sometimes, it is true, masked ; 
yet each wearing a livery of characteristics peculiar 
to its individual personification. 

And many of these are to be found in schools, 
especially in large ones, such as Bethlehem was 
during the period of ray sojourn there, when the 
boarding pupils at a time, ranged from eighty to 
rather more than one hundred and fifty; besides 
at least between twenty and thirty day scholars. 
And as these were subject to change, and only a 
few of them, comparatively, were permanently at 
the Institution for a longer space than a year or 
two at farthest, then shifted, and gave place to 
others, this must be considered in the calculation ; 
thus the list of my schoolmates was constantly in- 
creasing, and by this means during the period of 
little more than six years, the aggregate amount of 
the whole, methinks, at the lowest estimate, must 
certainly have reached to between four and five 
hundred. 

Of course among so many girls, there were a 
great variety of the human species of different char- 
acters and positions in society — while the private 
history of each had its own distinctive, individual 



UNFORTUNATES. 25 

cbaractcristics. Some of these contained striking 
facts of interest ; incidents not of ordinary occur- 
rence, which do not happen to everybody, and 
take place either with or without a vohmtary partici- 
pation of the actors. For instance, in the former 
kind of case, arising from the disposition and habits 
of the individual, and in the latter, those resulting 
entirely from the faults of others. 

Among the most prominent were those pro- 
duced by a disgraceful birth ; this of course was 
a circumstance for which the children were not to 
blame, but each case of which was marked with its 
own peculiar historj^ ; generally of abused confid- 
ing affection — a broken heart — an early grave — to- 
gether with a suffering life to the consequences of 
their sinful folly. Such unfortunates w^ere to be 
found at Bethlehem School, both among my school- 
mates and my teachers. The people there called 
them " Uncles' Children," and at first I could not 
comprehend the meaning of this term, though the 
impression given upon my childish mind was, that 
it indicated a mean and degraded parentage. 

In addition to these classes of persons, there 
were others in the place with whom I became ac- 
quainted, and more or less connected, whose liis- 
tory then and subsequently interested me. These 
all start forward now as I write, from the nooks and 
corners of memory, where they have been so long 
hidden, and claim their place in my record of these 
days of my childhood. It is astonishing how vivid- 
2 



26 FIRST IMPEESSIONS. 

Ij tliese gliosts of my memory present themselves, 
and how fresh they appear. Bat 1 was at the age 
when impressions fasten themselves the strongest 
npon the mind. Besides, as I had really very 
little close association wdth children out of our own 
domestic circle ere I came to Bethleliem, and in- 
deed had had hut a very limited intercourse with 
society in general, but had instead lived very much 
secluded and retired from observation, so every inci- 
dent of any moment whatever which occurred while 
at Bethlehem was calculated to make an impression 
upon my young mind. And as persons and cir- 
cumstances were so totally different from what I 
had expected them, from my previous experience 
of life, so the interest they excited became the 
greater in proj)ortion to the contrast they pre- 
sented. 

Hence as soon as my feelings of home-sickness 
had lost their first poignant sensibilities, and it was 
not long ere my mood was changeful and fluctuat- 
ing, my curiosity became excited to know more 
and more of a people with whose church my 
parents were so intimately connected, and to w^liom 
I was already bound by the ties of society-relation 
as one of their children. And here too I was to 
pass the remainder of my childliood ; and Bethle- 
hem to be the only world in which I was destined 
to move during the period of at least six years — an 
eternity of time to the little girl of eight years of 
age. Iso marvel, therefore, that every thing of 



SCHOOL APPELLATIONS. 27 

any consequence whatever, every individual cir- 
cumstance relating eitlier to the ph\ce or people, 
which contained any incident at all striking, or 
worthy in any way, of any note, attracted my at- 
tention, and riveted itself upon my mind ; and 
that much of this portion of the history of my child- 
hood became fastened upon the tablets of my mind, 
and indelibly impressed there. 

Besides this, the prominent position of my father 
in the church, and with the public, his relation to 
the School as its Agent, has enabled me to obtain 
possession of facts in reference to many of the in- 
dividuals here spoken of, which perhaps I might 
otherwise never have known. To this circum- 
stance, together with the fact that I was a child of 
considerable thought and observation, and had 
also a good memory, am I indebted for the sub- 
stance of the narrations which will be found in this 
book. 

Yet ere I enter upon these sketches, it is fitting 
that I should mention, that as I am speaking alto- 
gether of the past, of a period when the simplicity 
of primitive Moravianism was still in a measure 
apparent in the school — when the teachers were 
called " Sisters " — the scholars onl}^ by their first 
or last name, without any " Miss " ^^ prefixed to it, 
and all denominated girls, I have deemed it proper 
as a faithful narrator, to bestow the same appella- 

* Except on public occasions. 



28 SCHOOL APPKLLATIONS. 

tions here, notwithstaiKling the taste of some of my 
readers may possibly prefer the more modern and 
fasliionable style of designation. And with this 
prefatory observation, I pass to the following 
sketch. 



MAMMY SCHIJSTDLEE. 

I HAD scarcely arrived at Bethlehem, when I 
found myself an object of considerable attention 
among the good people of the place, nian}^ of whom, 
from being personal friends of my parents, were 
desirous to see me, as well as to manifest a kindly 
interest in my welfare. Some of these came to the 
School, while others sent for me. Accordingly, 
accompanied by one or another of my teachers, I 
was soon on my way to their respective residen- 
ces. 

Among the latter class was an early and mncli 
valued friend of my mother, the subject of this 
sketch. She lived in an upper street of the town — 
but we shortened the distance by the route we took, 
which was passing the building called the Corpse 
House ; from thence to the burying ground, through 
one corner oY wdiich we crossed — this brought ua 
almost directly into her garden, and led us to the 
rear of her dwelling, where we found her in her 
kitchen busily occupied Avith her domestic aiFairs. 
She was very much delighted at my coming, and I 



30 HER HOME. 

never can forget how warmly slie greeted me, and 
with what emotion she pressed me to her affection- 
ate heart, as she listened to my voice, for she could 
scarcely see me, as her sight was very dim. But 
my presence before her seemed to recall pleasant, 
yet very tender recollections, as for a space she 
could do little else but weep, while she still con- 
tinued fondly to embrace me. But by and by she 
recovered herself, when almost the first words she 
uttered were to congratulate herself that a daughter 
of one she loved so well, would now be near her, 
and perhaps remain at Bethlehem as long as she 
lived. 

At this time we had left the kitchen, and were 
in a small but comfortable apartment, wdiich served 
all tlie purposes of a parlor and bedroom ; — and full 
well do I remember exactly how it was situated, 
looked, and every article it contained, besides 
every circumstance of any interest whatever which 
occurred during that memorable visit. This room 
had but one window in front and rear ; near the 
latter w^as an old-fashioned clock, a table, and a 
spinning-wheel ; — the floor was covered with a rag 
carpet, while one chimney recess contained a com- 
mode bureau, and the other her bed, which was 
concealed from view by a dark curtain. Some 
wooden chairs and a stool completed the inventory 
of the furniture gatliered there. The whole beto- 
kened poverty, thougli not severely so — for although 
in restricted circumstances, she was not destitute of 



HER SITUATION. 31 

the means of support, at least as long as she could 
work, and had hitlierto been enabled to provide for 
her own necessities. 

Yet there was much in her situation calculated 
to excite strong sympathy in her behalf. She was 
getting old and feeble, besides almost blind and 
helpless. Added to this she was a childless widow, 
with no kind kindred about her to render the even- 
ing of her days cheerful and pleasant, and to obtain 
for her those little comforts and delicacies so grate- 
ful, and sometimes so very necessary, in declining 
health. E"o, the good Mammy had not a single 
person upon whom she had a claim to perform 
those kindly offices for her, and to take care of her 
when no longer able to do so herself. 

Yet she was not left alone and desolate, for 
being universally beloved and respected in the 
community, they frequeritly visited her — besides, 
she had rented out part of her house, and those who 
thus shared lier peaceful roof were some society for 
lier, and took a friendly interest in the old lady. 
Their children, as well as themselves, called her 
Mammy, and so also did every one else, and by 
this cognomen, and no other, was she generally 
known in the place. Indeed all the widows among 
the Moravians in their German settlements, thirty 
and forty years ago, were thus denominated, while 
their widowed brethren were the Daddies of their 
people, and this, too, although they might never 
have had any children whatever of their own. 



32 PRIMITIVE MORAVIANS. 

Marriage seems to have given tliem the right to 
this parental appelUitive, and thus Mammy Schind- 
ler was entitled to it. 

This much-loved friend of my mother was a 
specimen of the genuine primitive Moravians. In 
fact, both she and her excellent husband were 
natives of that country, and emigrated from tlieir 
father-land as children, I believe, about a century 
ago, and presently joined that devoted band of the 
Society wlio toiled togetlier for the general benefit 
at Bethlehem, upon the establishment of that Set- 
tlement in the association of which I mean to speak 
elsewhere — the Community of Goods. They con- 
tinued connected with it until this arrangement 
was dispensed with, whereupon the husband pur- 
sued his accustomed mechanical business entirely 
on his own account, but from various causes with 
which I am unacquainted, he never succeeded very 
w^ell, for although industrious and economical, he 
always remained poor. Yet through the co-opera- 
tion of his faithful and devoted helpmate, he man- 
aged to become the owner of his dwelling and 
workshop, and besides to save a few hundred dol- 
lars. When he died, he bequeathed all these his 
earthly possessions to his widow. 

When this occurrence took place, the Mammy, I 
should judge, must have been about sixty years of 
age, and had already become somewhat infirm in 
health. Hence it was deemed necessary that her 
property should be rendered as available as possi- 



THE mammy's support. 33 

ble. For this purpose she rented out the shop as 
well as the greater part of her dwelling, reserving 
for lierself only the accommodations I have men- 
tioned. As living was cheap at Bethlehem, and 
her habits of life economical, the income derived 
from these sources, with the interest on her small 
capital, together with the produce of her garden, 
poultrj-yard and piggery, though not sufficient for 
her support, contributed so materially towards it, 
that by the aid of her spinning-wheel she could 
manao-e with care to live comfortablv. Thus her 
means were never ample, but generally, just about 
enough to supply her actual necessities. 

'Tis true she had a few friends who added to it 
b}'- occasionally assisting her in some acceptable 
bestowment — but sometimes these presents did not 
benefit the recipient, as intended by the kind do- 
nors thereof, since they were not always allowed to 
increase her comforts in a pecuniary point of view, 
as she made them opportunities which she gladly 
embraced of helping individuals in more necessi- 
tous circumstances than hei'self. For this truly 
excellent woman was generous to a fault, and it 
afforded her the greatest possible pleasure to give 
away or share with others whatever she had. Add- 
ed to this, she possessed a beautiful simplicity of 
character, united to a very afi*ectionate nature. 
E'en while I write her venerable form presents 
itself before me, and with it the remembrance of 
many acts of considerate kindness and attention 

9* 



34 GOODNESS OF HEAliT. 

that I received from this friend of my childhood, 
which are carefully preserved among the treasured 
records of my early youth. And every portion of 
the year brought me these tokens of her love. In 
the season of fruits I had my share of what her 
garden afforded — of currants, cherries, and plums 
— while in winter, apples, nuts, and other good 
things, such as douglmnts, a plate of fritters or 
pancakes, or whatever else her kind heart sug- 
gested might be acceptable. 

And besides these free-will offeiings of her 
generous nature, whenever slie could conveniently 
do so, I was invited to take the vesper meal with 
her. At such times it was her wont to provide a 
bountiful and good repast, although it may be she 
could scarcely afford the expense, and was obliged 
afterwards in consequence to stint herself. Of 
course she kept me in happy ignorance of this cir- 
cumstance at the time, while I only realized that 
she was very kind, and each recui-rence of the like 
attention only deepened the impression upon my 
mind, and I have never forgotten it. 

I had one drawback, however, to my pleasure 
in visiting her. Her health was failing, and so per- 
ceptibly, that though only a child, I could not but 
perceive it. Besides this, her sight was becoming 
more and more impaired, and fears began to be 
entertained that she would soon be totally blind. 
In consequence, she was now very apt to be de- 



VISITS NEW YORK. 35 

pressed in spirits — aye sometimes quite unhappy, 
and often in tears. 

My parents no sooner were informed of her sad 
condition, than they urged her to come to them in 
]S'ew York, where she could liave the advantage 
of the best medical advice, which invitation she 
accepted, and took the earliest and most conven- 
ient opportunity of doing so, and in company with 
several of the Moravian Society of Bethlehem. She 
staid with tliem, if I recollect right, a month or two. 
This event was a great undertaking for such an 
aged woman, especially as she 'had never before, 
for more than half a centuiy, been absent from 
Bethlehem, except to a neighboring settlement — 
besides, it was the first time in her life that she had 
made any but a passing sojourn in any large city 
wdiatever. Yet, considering all the circumstances 
of her case, she bore it tolerably well, and after the 
first fatigue was over, she apparently enjoyed her- 
self considerably. The novelty of her situation 
amused her, Avhile she really appeared to derive 
benefit from the excitement it produced, as, for a 
space after lier return to Bethlehem, her health and 
spirits were remarkably good. In truth she re- 
ceived so much attention while in the city, and was 
so kindly treated by the friends she made here, 
as to keep her mind so constantly, pleasantly oc- 
cupied, that she had.no time to dwell upon her 
great calamity. Yet her sight did not improve. 
Indeed, a celebrated oculist in New York, who was 



36 ■ BECOMES BLIND. 

consulted upon the subject, pronounced lier case 
incurable, and only a few months subsequent to her 
visit to this city, she could scarcely recognize the 
features of her most familiar friend. 

Thus Providence rendered her completely help- 
less — nor could she spin any more — neither was she 
able to attend to her household duties. Thus situ- 
ated, it became necessary to have some one to take 
care of her, and soon an arrangement was effected 
with her tenants, who were good people and very 
fond of her. They had now been domiciled with 
her quite a number of years and knew all her pecu- 
liarities, and in her deplorable condition it was 
probably the very best arrangement which could 
have been made for her comfort and happiness. 
Yet the dear old Mammy, though fully agreeing to 
it, and seemingly satisfied with the proposition, was 
not really pleased with this change in her dojnestic 
affairs ; on the contrary, it painfully affected her. 

For she immediately realized that by this ar- 
rangement she w^ould be placed under some pecu- 
niary obligations to her friends, and she imagined 
that she might prove a great tax upon them in 
consequence. This was not the fact, however; the 
expense could not be great, and it was cheerfully 
promised and willingly bestowed. Yet to her it 
ever appeared a very great kindness, for which she 
was truly grateful, though her depression of sj^irits 
continued. In truth, she keenly felt her dependent 
situation, and believed that she was not only a 



WISHES TO DIE. 37 

helpless and useless being, but a burden to her- 
self and to otliers. And there were moments when 
this consideration rendered her so despondent, 
that it almost approached to melancholy. At such 
times she was apt to express herself tired of life, 
and to manifest an earnest desire to die, which 
caused her to ask her friends to pray to God to 
take her. 

" For," added she, " what good can a poor old 
blind woman like me do upon earth ? I am only in 
the wa}^ — useless and helpless— I have nothing to 
live for, and I shall be so much happier with my 
Saviour ; " and then the tears would fall from those 
dear old sightless orbs, and she would weep awhile, 
and maybe talk of her good Daddy and other 
friends who w^ere deceased, wdien a smile would 
pass over that wrinkled and aged face as she joyed in 
the anticipation of meeting them all again in Heaven. 

I still continued my usual visits, when she re- 
ceived me with her wonted kindness ; and as my be- 
ing w^ith her always gratified the dear old lady, I 
never omitted the opportunity to go and see her. I 
remember that for some time, whenever I was taking 
my leave, she invariably desired the same message 
to my mother, together with the earnest request 
that she and my father would never for a single 
day fail to unite their prayers to God in her be- 
half — and especially to entreat Him, as a great 
favor, that He would send for her — that she might 
be permitted to die and be with Him forever. 



38 " IS VERY ILL. 

And more than once she added, "Tell them to 
remind the Lord that I am here upon earth," for 
like another of the ancient widows of Bethlehem 
of whom I mean to make mention in these sketches, 
she fancied that perliaps God had forgotten it. 
And I recollect the verj last time they saw her 
she reiterated this request, as she did in like man- 
ner to other friends who visited her. And in fact, 
the more she realized the inhrmities of age, the in- 
creasing helplessness and hopelessness of her condi- 
tion, the wish to quit life seemed to strengthen. 

And yet the good Mammy continued to live on ; 
for the appointed time of her departure had not ar- 
rived — and she lingered, it may be, until years as 
w^ell as months were added to her span of being. 
The boon she so anxiously, yea, impatiently craved, 
was still denied. I cannot now recollect whether 
it was then, or antecedent to this period, that her 
grave-clothes were prepared, and the necessary sum 
for her coffin and other funeral expenses were care- 
fully provided and taken care of; also, that she 
had entirely closed up her account with the world. 
But as such things were of common occurrence 
among the Moravians formerly, these arrangements 
of hers did not excite any particular observation or 
remark. 

Time passed, when at length the dear old Mam- 
my found herself stretched upon a bed of sickness 
with a fearful and agonizing disease. It is called 
the Misery in German, because of the intense dis- 



SHRINKS FKOM DEATH. 39 

tress always atteiidino- it. She suffered indescrib- 
ably, and it became almost directly apparent that 
the long anticipated and wished for period was 
near at hand, when lier earthly existence would 
terminate ; and that the angel of death would 
quickly appear to bear her spirit away. And 
knowing how ardently she liad desired his coming, 
her friends generally rejoiced on her account. But 
how did she receive him ? how greet his arrival ? 
was it with willingness and joy, and did she hail 
him as a friend ? Strange to say, no ; but we were 
told that, on the contrary, she saw his approach with 
dread and dismay, and witli fear and tremblinoj 
shrunk from his icy toucli. Besides, Avhen the 
minister who was summoned to her dying bed 
talked with her upon the subject, and congratulated 
her upon the certain and speedy realization of this 
long impatiently desired blessing — this fondly 
cherished hope and anticipation, she surprised him 
by saying : 

" Oh, my dear brother, it is true I have so spoken, 
and have for years awaited this moment with ar- 
dent and longing desire ; I have been really impa- 
tient for my release from this body of suffering, 
yet I would rather live, for, after all, life is very 
sweet and pleasant. Yes, I fain would stay here a 
little longer." 

She was suffering greatly at the time, but was 
perfectly in her senses, although the minister and 
the other friends who were about her, in their as- 



iO ^ DESIRES TO LIVE. 

tonisliment at sucli expressions falling from her lips, 
fancied at the moment that perhaps her mind was 
becoming unsettled. The minister herenpon, anx- 
ious to ascertain the true state of the case, and 
how she really felt in the prospect of eternity, 
took her hand gently within his own while he ob- 
served : 

" But, my dear Mammy, remember that you 
are going to the Saviour with whom you have so 
long desired to be ; to the home which He has pre- 
pared for you, where you will be forever freed from 
every kind of suffering and infirmity, and besides, 
be eternally united to all the dear Christian friends 
who are already with, our Lord." 

" Oh, I do not forget all these things, I remem- 
ber them well," she replied, '' and it is all very fine 
and delightful ; but yet, dear brother, if it is His 
holy will I w^ould, nevertheless, rather not go just 
yet. Indeed, I would rather get well again — there- 
fore please tell Him so, if it is only for a little time 
longer." 

A moment more and then she added : " Oh, it is 
much easier, I find, to speak of death, aye, and wish 
for him when he is distant, and to regard him as a 
w^elcome messenger to bear us away from earth, 
than actually to meet him. And much as we may 
have craved his coming ere this, when we realize 
his presence it is hard to keep from shrinking at 
his approach." 

And then as earnestly as she had implored her 



DIES. 4:1 

friends to pray for her death, did she entreat them 
to plead to Heaven in her belialf for a continuance 
of the precions gift of life ; but all unavailing, and 
instead, tlie prayer of years was to be granted, for 
the summons had gone forth that she must die. 

And now in that presence chamber of death, 
there was a fearful conflict between that dying 
woman and the great adversary of our race. 

Yet it was only for a brief space, for the Saviour 
was near, and ere she entered the dark valley she 
discerned His presence as her guide, support, and 
stay. Then the yearnings of her better nature re- 
turned — her spirit longings revived — the Christian's 
faith triumphed over the weakness of humanity — 
and with a certain hope of a blessed eternity, the 
good old Mammy Schindler quietly and calmly re- 
signed her being. 



PAPPY HECKEWELDEE, 



GHOST OF BETHLEHEM. 

Foe the greater part of a quarter of the present 
century, the most prominent if not the most inter- 
esting individual residing at Bethlehem during that 
interval, at least to the majority of the gentlemen 
strangers visiting the place, was the late John 
Heckewelder, the distinguished Indian historiog- 
rapher, besides of another volume or two in rela- 
tion to the aboriginal population of this country. 

The old gentleman had long lived among these 
people both as a missionary of the Society and 
otherwise. Indeed, he passed altogether a great 
many years with them — hence had an excellent op- 
portunity, which he improved to a considerable 
extent, of becoming well acquainted with their 
natural traits of character, their peculiar habits 
and way of thinking upon subjects in general, and 
of the manners and customs of some of their various 
tribes. He soon found himself interested in these 
denizens of our soil, and formed some strong at- 



AN EAELY FRIEND. 43 

tacliments among them. And the more closely he 
studied them, observed their natural characteristics, 
and made himself familiar with their peculiar 
foibles and weaknesses, the better he became able 
to appreciate whatever was commendable and good 
in their natures, as well as the more readily to ex- 
cuse the many imperfections which sully this portion 
of our humanity. And he was ever their friend 
and advocate as long as he lived, and continued to 
reside among them until quite advanced in years. 
He then retired to Bethlehem to pass the residue 
of his days, where he died somewhere between 
1820 and 1830, but I cannot now positively remem- 
ber exactly when that event occurred. 

He was a great favorite of mine, this dear old 
Daddy Heckewelder, as he was familiarly called at 
Bethlehem, as well as Pappy, though most generally 
by the former appellative. I had always known 
him, aye, even from my very infancy. In fact, he 
was associated in my mind with my earliest recol- 
lections of life, and as many of these reminiscences 
were of a peculiarly impressive nature, they were 
fastened the stronger upon my memory. I always 
venerated and loved him ; and as the juveniles of 
our family usually called him Grandfather, I had 
learnt to regard him with the feelings due to that 
relation. And the circumstance of his being at 
Bethlehem at the time I went there, certainly recon- 
ciled me more than any other thing to the separa- 
tion from my fiimily, especially as he had promised 



44 OUR FIRST [MEETING. 

my parents to be kind and attentive to me, and I 
placed implicit confidence in his word. And e'en 
now as I WTite I distinctly remember how I joyed 
in the anticipation of seeing the good old man 
again. I recollect onr first meeting occurred in 
the church the morning of the next day subsequent 
to my arrival at Bethlehem. It was at the public 
examination of the school. He had heard of my 
coming, and I perceived him looking for me, and 
oh ! how fatherly and kind did he greet me ; and 
as I had ah-eady become somewhat home sick, how 
soothing and pleasant his voice sounded, and liow it 
cheered me in the midst of the tumult of excite- 
ment I was in, because of the feeling of loneliness 
and strangeness wdiicli was even then sensibly steal- 
ing upon me and aflfecting my spirits. Soon he re- 
minded me of his promise, which again lie reit- 
erated, then arranged with one of my teachers when 
I should visit him. In consequence, on the morrow, 
attended by Sister Brown, I wended my way to his 
house. We went there directly after my first visit 
to Mammy Schindler, the rear of whose garden 
joined his. There I met with as cordial and hearty 
a greeting as I had experienced from the ancient 
lady I had just left, and he was ever after equally 
as afifectionate and kind to me. 

Dear old gentleman ! I lov^ed him, not only be- 
cause of his unvarying kindness to me, but for the 
reason of his being highly esteemed by my parents ; 
besides, he was a connecting link with their mission- 



THE MISSIONA.EIES. 45 

arj efforts. In fact, they were for a space co-workers 
together in this enterprise, though not exactly in 
the same field of labor, but only a few miles distant, 
and saw each other very frequently. Yet my father 
commenced his missionary career mider Mr. Heck- 
ewelder's gnardian companionship, and together 
they journeyed in the discharge of this commission 
for some hundred miles, he being his guide to the 
people among whom he had been appointed to 
labor, and was with him as I have already stated, 
or near him, during some of the years of this truly 
trying and difiicult crusade against Satan, sharing 
his joys and sorrows, sympathizing in his troubles 
and difficulties, participating largely in his conse- 
quent cares and anxieties, ever proving throughout 
his faithful counsellor, his attached and often very 
efficient friend. 

Venerable and excellent old man ! — how I used 
to delight to hear him recount some of the scenes 
of trials they had together experienced — to tell me 
some of the anecdotes with which he abounded of 
the Indians, among whom they dwelt ; and more 
than all, it was pleasant to a daughter's ear to listen 
to the sayings and doings, the labors and efforts of 
my beloved sire, in behalf of these benighted sav- 
ages of our western world ; and to hear how highly 
he was estimated, how universally respected, not 
only by the wise and good, but also by some of 
these ignorant people, — and the influence he exer- 
cised, the interest he excited for these unfortunate 



4:6 AN APOSTLE. 

beings, together witli the amount of good lie 
probably accomplished both for the temporal and 
eternal welfare of his charge. And then it was 
the wont of the good Pappy to speak of his ftiith 
and patient perseverance, even amid the most dis- 
couraging circumstances, notwithstanding bodily 
weaknesses and infirmities of various kinds ; and 
how martyr-like he endured tribulations and trial s^ 
with no other prospect of earthly reward ihan 
theirs — a cruel and violent death. And, continued 
the old gentleman, he looked so frail and feeble all 
the while, that it was truly a wonder how he could 
bear up ; but he leaned upon our Lord, and trusted 
in Him, and this gave him courage and made him 
feel strong, although in reality he was yevj feeble 
and sickly. And as this subject was a favorite 
theme of conversation with the venerable man 
when I visited him, and like old people generally, 
he was apt to repeat the same narratives over and 
over again. I heard these repeatedly, and thus 
many interesting facts in my father's missionary 
history became indelibly impressed upon my young 
mind. 

The old gentleman, though from early years a 
member of the Moravian community, had not, like 
his brethren, generally lived a secluded and retired 
life, but had mingled considerably with the world 
outside of their church, and seen much of society out 
of the pale of their communion. He was, I believe, 
of German parentage, but passed some years in 



OLD TIMES. 47 

England previous to coming to America, where he 
became quite a traveller ; and being very observant 
and inquiring, had taken careful note of persons 
with whom he met, and of circumstances as they 
occurred, which could be of any advantage to him, 
and. had. profited materially by his observations. 

Mr. Heckewelder w\as a very sociable and pleas- 
ant man, exceedingly agreeable and entertaining in 
his conversation, having the happy faculty of know- 
ing how to engage the attention of his hearers gen- 
erally, whether they were old or young, either when 
telling over tlie reminiscences of missionary life 
and of the times of primitive Moravianism, or when 
speaking on any other familiar topic. Besides, he 
was very fond of communicating any desired infor- 
mation in his })ower, especially when it related to 
the Indians or the Moravian Society ; and as he 
was well acquainted with the history of his church, 
and of the settlement of Bethlehem from its very 
commencement, he was a very valuable reference 
for knowledge of facts connected with either of 
these subjects. As was natural I had considerable 
curiosity about the bygone events of the Church, 
the olden times in the Society, and had many ques- 
tions to ask relative to that period. I found him 
ever ready to satisfy my queries, and thus I became 
possessed of many interesting particulars of the 
Society in its primitive state, both in this country 
and in Europe, some of which my memory has 
carefully preserved, and from its store I have se- 



48 CIRCUMSTANCES. 

lectecl a sketch or two which will be found in this 
volume. 

Mr. Ileckewelder was not poor, — on the con- 
trary, he possessed at least a moderate competency. 
He acquired this property not by inheritance, but 
in a government situation, which he held either 
when he was a missionary or immediately subse- 
quent to that period. 

The old gentleman was one of the commissioners 
appointed by the General Government to select the 
site of the capital of Tuscarawas County in the State 
of Ohio, and of another, the name of which I do 
not now recollect, whereupon acres of land which 
he had purchased but a short time previously, were 
divided off into town lots, and he realized quite a 
little fortune thereby. 

He owned the house he lived in at Bethlehem. 
It was, if I recollect right, a comfortable snug two- 
story building, but it always appeared to me to be 
in an unfinished state. A single daughter lived 
with him, and she with one servant completed his 
household. This daughter Polly was his house- 
keeper, but unfortunately so very deaf that the 
only way she could communicate with persons gen- 
erally, was by writing either by pen or pencil on 
paper or slate, and she always was provided with 
some of these necessary materials. This infirmity 
I heard had been produced, it was thought, alto- 
gether by often repeated severe headaches. 

Mr. Heckewelder had a beautiful garden in the 



GARDEN. 49 

rear of liis lioiise, which, though not large, was, 1 
believe, tastefully arranged, and contained quite a 
variety of choice fruits and flowers. The former 
were principally of the berry kind. I remember, in 
particular, some very fine English strawberries and 
white raspberries and gooseberries, all of which 
were unusually large and well flavored ; besides, 
lie had a quantity of currants of the colors red, 
black, and white. Of the flowers, I recollect a kind 
of rose which particularly struck my young fancy. 
I believe it was perfectly white, exceedingly fra- 
grant, and trained to run up nearly the whole of 
the rear of tlie house. And then besides he had 
those deliciously perfumed plants, the tuber rose, 
mignonette, and the sweet-scented strawberry- 
shrub. And there too was a summer house, where 
tlie good old Pappy used to love to retire to smoke 
his pipe and segar, and his favorite place to tell 
stories in, and it was there where I last saw him, 
and as I kissed his venerable cheek, came the feel- 
ing that it was our final leave-taking ; and it proved 
to be so, for we met no more upon earth. 

But I will not linger upon this sad retrospect, 
therefore return we to the house and pass to another 
spot consecrated by associations of interest con- 
iiected w^ith my revered friend. This was his liter- 
ary corner, where for some time I almost always 
found him — seated in a comfortable, old-fasliioned 
arm-chair — pen in hand, and with a pile of books 
and manuscripts before him. 
3 



50 ' WRITING-BOOKS. 

One day, wlien thus situated, I went to see him. 
He was so busily engaged at the time, that he did 
not perceive my coming into the room, but as soon 
as I approached near, he raised his eyes, smiled, 
and gave me, as usual, a cordial greeting — then for 
a space resumed his occupation. I watched liim a 
little while, and then quietly left him to amuse 
myself in the garden, but had proceeded but a few 
steps when he called me to him. 

" You seem to have so much to do, dear Daddy," 
said I, "that I am afraid I shall be in the way." 

" 1^0, no, my dear child," he replied, " I am 
very glad you have come." 

" But what does it mean, that I always find you 
so busily writing ? What is it all about ? " 

He looked at me and smiled ; then taking my 
hand within his he answered: "You wonder, my 
child, what I am doing. "Well, I believe I will 
tell you." Then la3dng down his pen he resumed : 
" To tell you the truth, my dear, I am writing a 
book, which I intend to publish, and it is about the 
Indians. And I am doing this, my child, to in- 
terest the world in them ; to make them acquainted 
with the language, habits, and traits of character of 
the people among whom your parents and I perilled 
our lives, and by this means, I hope to live long 
after I am dead and gone." 

I looked at him wonderingly, for in fact I did 
not directly comprehend his meaning. 

" Yes, my child," he continued, " it is even so ; 



ME. 1)U PONCEAU. 51 

and the idea is pleasant, that years after I have 
ceased to live upon this earth, I shall not be for- 
gotten — at least my name will be remembered." 

And then I inqiured, "And in the same man- 
ner v\'ill not these poor Indians continue to live?" 

The old man sighed, and then answered my in- 
terrogatory by saying, " Ah, my child, this is the 
only way the races of our poor E"orth American 
Indians will presently be known, for they are fast 
disappearing from the face of the earth, and they 
will soon exist only ujDon the page of history." In 
truth, as he was so very much interested in our 
aborigines, he deeply felt the wrongs and outrages 
which had been inflicted upon them, and grieved 
over their too probable destiny. 

I remembei", while with him one day, that a car- 
riage stopped at his door from which two gentle- 
men alighted, and almost directly afterwards they 
were shown into the room, one of whom imme- 
diately advanced towards Mr. Heckewelder, ex- 
tended his hand, and greeted him very cordially, 
and then introduced his friend. The former, quite 
an aged man, I believe was Mr. Duponceau of 
Philadelphia, a particular friend of the Daddy, and 
through whose instrumentality and encouragement 
his works were published. Mr. Duponceau, if I 
recollect right, was then the President of the His- 
torical Society of Philadelj^hia, and, being much 
interested in our aboriginal population, and anxious 
to obtain the most reliable information concerning 



52 REV. MR. :mortimer. 

them as a people, and of their langnnge, etc., had 
for some time corresponded with the okl gentleman 
upon the subject. And the result was not only the 
publication of Mr. Ileckewelder's celebrated work 
upon the Indians under his especial patronage, but 
of a lasting friendship between the twain. 

This visit truly afforded much pleasure, not only 
to the parties concerned, but to the little girl who 
listened to the conversation of, the gentlemen, and 
heard many things new and strange of the people 
among whom she was born. Pappy Heckewelder, 
as usual when talking about such matters, was very 
animated,, and he did not fail to introduce me to 
his friends as a daughter of the Rev. Mr. Mortimer, 
one of their missionaries among these Indians ; he 
called me a little white Delaware Indian girl, wdiich 
amused me very much, and caused his visitors to 
laugh heartily. 

While I write, how vividly does this dear old 
man present himself before me, as he is connected 
with the greater part of the happiness I enjoyed 
wdiile at Bethlehem ; for to him I went with all 
my little griefs and sorrows, w^ell assured of receiv- 
ing in return his sincere sym2:)athy and some cheer- 
ing expression of kindness. ^N'ot that I had no 
other friends in the village — for I was singularly 
fortunate in this respect — but I knew him better 
than au}^ one else, and had the greatest confidence 
in his sympathizing interest in my behalf. 

Besides, like his old neighbor, dear good Mammy 



KINDNESS. b6 

Scliindler, he seemed to take particular pleasure in 
administering to my creature comforts, especially 
those which pertain to the palate. For, ever and 
anon, a very acceptable gift of one or another kind 
of fruit, or something else of equal value, found its 
way to the school to me, as tokens of tlie kindly 
consideration of these excellent friends. And as I 
was for a considerable space, a sickly and puny 
child, and very sensitive to neglect, these atten- 
tions were the more highly prized and apprecia- 
ted. 

And now for another reminiscence of my friend, 
good old Pappy Ilecke welder. I have said that 
he abounded in stories of the Society in primitive 
times, and I cannot refrain from giving one here 
which greatly interested me. The whole circum- 
stances given, transpired, I believe, within the first 
forty years from the commencement of Bethlehem, 
and occurred in that place. And my memory con- 
jures up the old gentleman as he told it to me, on 
one bright summer afternoon in his pleasant sum- 
mer bower. 

lie said that among the first strangers who ap- 
plied at Bethlehem for permission to live there, 
was a young woman, but of what rank in life, or of 
what appearance she was, did not transpire in liis 
narration. He only stated that she seemed quite 
young, came entirely alone, and represented her- 
self a single woman, and friendless ; yet what at- 
tracted her to the settlement, or induced her to 



54 THE STRANGER. 

wish to remain there was not known, neither any 
thing concerning her but what she chose to men- 
tion ; and as she said as little as possible respecting 
herself, very few facts of her history were elicited, 
but as these satisfied the Society of the sincerity 
of her motives, they granted her request. And as 
ihe represented herself as single, they placed her 
in the sisters' house ; and being poor, provided her 
with employment to support herself. 

But this occurred during tlie time of the estab- 
lishment of the community of goods at Bethlehem, 
of which I promise to speak more fully elsewhere. 
She therefore had to toil not only for herself, but 
for the common good. And it was the impression 
of my venerable narrator, that she faithfully per- 
formed her share of this duty. 

She was active and industrious, but quiet and 
reserved in her manners. Indeed, she was remark- 
ably taciturn, and thought to shun the society of 
her associates, but presently, as her conduct proved 
perfectly unexceptionable, at her own expressed 
desire, she was admitted into the Society, though 
at first only on probation ; but soon after she joined 
it in full communion and church membership. 
After this she continued to demean herself well, 
and with the strictest propriety of behavior ; yet 
those who closely observed her, could perceive that 
a shadow rested upon her soul, which occasionally 
fearfully distressed her. Still, this circumstance 
did not elicit much remark. It was attributed to 



MARRIAGE. 55 

her altered manner of living, which perhaps she 
found too severe and exacting ; and in addition, it 
may be that it originated in her lonely and isolated 
condition. 

This latter idea probably induced the Elders of 
the Society in the place, to suppose that a change 
of situation might be conducive to the happiness 
of their young sister: accordingly t]iey soon pro- 
posed her for marriage with one of their brethren. 
But when the proposition was submitted to her, in- 
stead of affording her any pleasure, a dark cloud 
came over her countenance ; she immediately be- 
came exceedingly unhappy, and wept considerably : 
yet it seems slie did not reject the offer, but after 
making herself perfectly wretched about it for a 
space, accepted the destiny proffered her by the 
church, and apj^arently, with willing and cheerful 
acquiescence. 

Yet scarcely was she married, ere the cloud re- 
turned heavier and darker than before ; a very 
great change became perceptible in her w^hole de- 
meanor. She was now ever restless, gloomy and 
abstracted, and indeed so unhappy as to be almost 
constantly in tears. This distressing state of feehng 
continued, and so fearfully increased, that her very 
soul appeared shrouded in impenetrable melancholy, 
and the reason wlierefore nobody could fathom ; 
for her bnsband was kind, and no one knew of her 
having had any trouble whatever with anybody. 

I know not for what lengtli of time the unhappy 



56 SUICIDE. 

woman was in tins situation, but my impression is 
that it had not continued but a few weelvs ere she 
suddenly disappeared, and it was immediately con- 
jectured that she had destroyed herself. And hav- 
ing been last seen walking in the direction of Bar- 
tow's road and near the river, a search was made 
there, and j)resently her lifeless remains were found 
near the spot where subsequently the wash-house 
of the school was located. This was the first sui- 
cide among the Moravians, and I know of none 
other which ever occurred in the whole Society. 

As will be readily believed, this event produced 
considerable excitement. I>ror did it end with her 
death, for according to my chronicler, every morn- 
ing afterwards, always at a certain time, which 1 
think he said was just before the break of day, a 
pale shadowy form, bearing a strong resemblance to 
the self-destroyer, and with an infant in her arms, 
could be distinctly seen leaving her former dwell- 
ing — glide rapidly along in the direction of the Le- 
high — pause a moment upon its bank — then appar- 
ently plunge in and vanish within its peaceful 
bosom. 

The coming of this apparition caused consider- 
able consternation among the inhabitants generally, 
and Avhen its return was found to continue, and of 
daily occurrence, it became a matter of serious de- 
liberation how to put a stop to these ghostly visita- 
tions. At length it was suggested that the good 
people of the place should among themselves en- 



THE FEARLESS BROTHER. 57 

deavor to bauisli it from them. But who would 
undertake this disagreeable duty ? "Who had suf- 
ficient courage for the enterprise ? The question 
was scarcely asked, when one of the Brethren, a 
very holy and reverend man, volunteered his ser- 
vices for the occasion. 

This Moravian brother has been described to 
me as rather old ; small in stature ; of florid com- 
plexion, and of snow-white hair. His voice was 
very distinct and clear though somewhat tremulous, 
but his step firm ; while he had mucli nerve, and 
considerable self-reliance and determination of char- 
acter, and indeed was so fearless as to give the im- 
pression upon some minds that he would not have 
been afraid to encounter even the DeviL His name 
I have learnt, and it was either Grube, or De Fries, 
but I cannot recollect which, from the fact that I 
have heard incidents of both which are not defi- 
nitely settled upon either. 

My story goes on to say that one morning, soon 
after this resolute man had entered upon this en- 
gagement, two or three hours after midnight, he 
sallied forth and alone to confront the spectre, in 
order to demand some explaiuition why it thus an- 
noyed the good people of Bethlehem and was thus 
unquiet and restless. He had to wait for its ap- 
pearance only until the usual time, when he saw it 
rapidly approaching in the direction where he 
stood. It was just about passing him, when the 
stout-hearted little man called out loudly to it to 
3* 



58 THE GHOST. 

stop, and when he did so, he uttered the following 
or similar words, at the same moment raising a 
cane he held in his hand as he spoke, and pointing 
it in the direction of the Spirit — 

^' Stop, my friend, I command jou in the name 
of the Father, and of his blessed Son our Lord Je- 
sus Christ, and of the Holy Ghost which He sent 
to us ; yea, even in the name of the Triune God, I 
command you to stop, and tell me why you thus 
w^ander forth in the midst of us, and disturb us ; 
also why your soul does not rest in peace ? " 

The Spirit immediately thereupon halted, and 
whilst it gently waved in the early morning air, 
before the man of God, it whispered in his ear a 
tale of crime and sufiering. It told him that she 
who had been deemed so virtuous and good while 
sojourning in the Settlement of Bethlehem, w^as 
that shunned and despised thing, a victim of vice 
and of fell depravity ; that a child had been the con- 
sequence of tliis life of infamy, which she had de- 
stroyed ; and then, fearful of detection, and with the 
finger of scorn ever pointing at her, she had fled to 
Bethlehem as to an ark of safety — a place of secu- 
rity — a safe retreat from the hands of justice. 
That there she had sincerely repented of her griev- 
ous sins ; had become a reformed Magdalen, and 
sought by penitence and prayer, and diligent labor 
in the service of the church, to make some atone- 
ment for her crimes. Yet she found not the peace 
and comfort which she so ardently desired ; but on 



69 

the contraiy, as bIio became more and more sensi- 
ble of the enormity of her gnilt, she was the more 
wretched and miserable, until the burden of life was 
rendered intolerable, and then she madly rushed 
into death. " And as part of my punishment," con- 
tinued the spectre, '' for this last great wickedness in 
going unbidden to the presence of God, I am con- 
demned to revisit the spot daily, and at the same 
hour in which I committed this dreadful act, bear- 
ing with me the poor innocent whom I, its wicked 
mother, killed, to proclaim my sin and shame to the 
people whom I had thus grossly deceived." 

" A sad story this," ]-emarked the good old man, 
" and I sincerely pity you ; but how long will you 
contiiiue thus to trouble us ? " 

" Until the period of my appointed time to have 
died," was the reply. " Yet let not my presence 
among them ever trouble the people, for I am in- 
capable of doing them any harm." Then answered 
the holy man, " May God soon grant us all this 
blessed deliverance, and your Spirit obtain this 
much desired repose." 

But even while he spoke thus, the Ghost passed 
quickly away ; and e'en as he gazed upon it, it was 
lost in the waters of the Lehigh. 

" And how long afterwards did it continue to 
be seen ? " I inquired of the Daddy. 

" For many years after this, it is said, my child," 
he replied, " but I know not exactly the length of 
time, and then it suddenly disappeared, I suppose 



60 

because it was then permitted at last to go to its 
rest." 

"And did you ever see this Ghost?" was my 
next question. 

" 'No, my dear," was the answer, " though ac- 
cording to the accounts of a number of our people 
here, it still continued its visitations as usual, for 
some years in my day." With this reminiscence 
I close this sketch of the venerable and excellent 
Mr. Heckewelder. 



The individuals who form the subject of the 
following sketch, as well as of another to be given in 
these series, are taken from the Sisters' House at 
Bethlehem, formerly the house of nearly all the un- 
married females resident in the jDlace. This dwell- 
ing was one of the first I entered after my arrival 
there, and it was ever regarded by me with feel- 
ings of peculiar interest. I became acquainted 
with quite a number of its inmates, some of wliom 
b}^ reason of their long isolation from the world, — 
or perhaps never having mingled in it, had be- 
come rather peculiar in their notions and liabits ; 
and indeed a portion of them w^ere really so very 
odd and simple in their way of thinking, as to cause 
me sometimes considerable wonderment as w^ell as 
amusement. Yet I found much among them to ex- 
cite my interest, attention, and curiosity ; and from 



PECULIAKITIES. 61 

the record of some of the histories of this sister- 
hood of the Society, I give the subjoined nar- 
rations. 

It will be perceived that they belonged to the 
primitive times of the church, and the one I am now 
sketching in particular is a fair specimen of that 
class of their people of those days. 

Yet ere I commence this narration, it is proper 
by way of explanation, to say a few words in rela- 
tion to the peculiarities of the Society therein men- 
tioned. I do not mean, however, to enter upon a 
detailed description of either of them, as it would 
be out of place here, besides, as it is my intention 
to give a full account of all of them in another work, 
it is entirely superfluous to do more here, than 
merely to bestow upon these a passing notice. 

I mention in this book the establishment of the 
Community of^Goods at Bethlehem. This regula- 
tion was adopted for a specific purpose, and was 
only continued until its object was accomplished. 
In the coming narration the use of the Lot is spoken 
of in connection with the marriages of the Com- 
munity. As it is my purpose to devote a whole vol- 
ume in thoroughly describing this truly singular 
peculiarity of Primitive Moravianism, I will only 
say of it at present, that at the period to which 
this sketch belongs, not only the marriages of 
their people, but every other afi'air of moment 
among them was controlled by this regulation of 
their church. The Hourly Intercession also men 



62 PECULIAEITIES. 

tioned, was n practice observed by the Society for 
some years in their settlements after their reorgan- 
ization ; and the Lovefeasts were, and are still their 
manner of keeping commemorative celebrations, 
while all classes of their people were mider the 
spiritual supervision of Elders and Elderesses. And 
with this short explanatory preface, I introduce my 
readers to, — 



THE TWIN SINGLE SISTERS. 

It was in the very infancy of the settlement of 
Bethlehem, at the period when the Community of 
Goods existed there, and the whole population lived 
together as one large family, and had a general 
housekeeping, that their number was suddenly in- 
creased by the addition of quite a colony of their 
people from Germany. Among these emigrants was 
a humble born but piou& couple, of the name of 
Werner. They had but recently joined the Societ}^, 
and were in indigent circumstances. They had a 
considerable family, the poor man's blessing, and 
too frequently constituting his only wealth. 

The peculiar arrangement regarding the pecu- 
niary affairs of the Moravians at Bethlehem, for 
the maintenance of that settlement to which I have 
just alluded, of combined united labor for the 
benefit of all, and which was universally adopted 
by its inhabitants, had the effect in a great measure 
for the time being, of levelling the distinctions ex- 
ternally of the various conditions in life among 
them ; or apparently, at least, as far as what re- 



64 THE WERNERS. 

lates to the actual pecuniary circumstances of dif- 
ferent individuals. Thus, our worthy couple, by 
this means, were placed in a situation which caused 
them not to realize their own straitened circum- 
stances, as fully as they otherwise must have done. 
But born in poverty and inured to its privations, 
both had been accustomed from their very child- 
hood to labor very diligently for their support; 
neither did they consider it a hardship to work, 
nor to perform the drudgery of life. And previous 
to their joining these colonists, they had been so 
poor, that their necessities made it necessary for 
their children to support themselves as soon as they 
were at all able to do so. 

Anna and Mary Werner were twin daughters 
of this poverty-stricken pair. They were born in 
Germany, but very young when their parents emi- 
grated to this country ; were healthy children, and 
their resemblance to each other was so striking in 
their babyhood, as to render it exceedingly difficult 
to tell them apart. Even their mother, I have 
been told, was so puzzled as to their identity, that in 
order to be certain in the matter, she tied a piece 
of narrow ribbon either upon the wrist or finger of 
the eldest, as a mark to distinguish her from her 
sister ; but as they grew up, Anna became a little 
taller than Mar}^, besides, then their personal resem- 
blance was no longer as great. 

At an early age, these two girls found a home in 
the Sisters' House at Bethlehem. Their religious 



HAPPY POVERTY. 65 

training had been carefully attended to, but their 
minds had received so little culture, that I believe 
neither of them could even read or write. Like 
their parents, they were hard working and indus- 
trious, and as their means of support, were em- 
ployed in washing, spinning, and weaving, with 
other similar work. 

These sisters were strongly attached to each 
other. This, united to their amiable tempers, and 
uniform cheerfulness of disposition, with their truly 
Christian character, made them always happy ; wdiile 
it secured to them the respect of their associates and 
gained them many friends. They toiled side by side, 
companionship sweetening their labor ; and such 
was the strong sympathy of feeling existing be- 
tween them, or something surely akin to it, that if 
either became sick, the other soon drooped with 
the same complaint; and it was a singular fact, 
that even when any accident befell the one, in every 
instance save a single exception, some similar dis- 
aster happened to the other. ISTo marvel, then, 
these circumstances gave others, as well as them- 
selves, the impression, they would probably not be 
separated even by death ; but that the destroying 
angel would kindly be permitted to bear their 
spirits away together. 

ISTo thoughts of any other separation, it would 
appear, had for a moment entered the mind of 
either, until one of the brotherhood, a respectable 
mechanic, desired Anna as his wife. He was of 



bb A PROPOSAL OF MAERIAGE. 

very industrious habits, clever at his trade, unex- 
ceptionable in his character, and altogether a very 
worthy person. And as the arrangement of the 
Community of Goods no longer existed, and he was 
so capable, he had the prospect of obtaining more 
than a comfortable maintenance for himself ; there- 
fore in circumstances to warrant his marriage. ^ 

The usual course of procedure took place. The 
Lot was used, and the answer being propitious to 
the marriage, the proposal then, without any delay, 
was submitted to the astonished Anna. At the same 
time slie was told of every thing that could be said 
in favor of the match ; besides this, she had every 
necessary information communicated to her con- 
cerning himself and his family. 

As Anna listened to these details, she became 
impressed favorably with this proposition. She be- 
lieved that the connection might be a desirable one, 
at all events, worthy of her serious consideration ; 
she therefore requested to be allowed some days 
ere she rendered her reply, which of course w^as 
granted. 

And now, new and varied emotions swelled the 
hearts and occupied the minds of these affectionate 
maiden twin sisters. It was a season of trial to 
them both, but it w^ould be difficult to say which 
suffered the most intensely. 

The heart of Anna was the subject of strong 
conflicting feelings of interest and affection. Could 
she leave her dearly beloved sister Mary ? the dar 



AFFECTION. 67 

ling associate of her infancy, childhood and youth, 
lier bosom friend who loved her so tenderly? The 
very idea vras painful. Besides, Mary had but a short 
lime previous to this, met with an accident, which 
liad rendered her health somewhat delicate. As 
this w^as the only event of the kind in their lives 
in which they did not mutually suffer alike, was it 
sent as a token from their Heavenly Father, that 
the mystic tie which had hitherto so happily united 
them, was about to be dissevered ? As this fancy 
presented itself, the big tears coursed their way down 
the cheeks of this fond sister. Then as she pon- 
dered upon the matter, and probed her feelings 
further, Anna made the discoverv, that although 
yet quite a stranger to him who sought her as his 
bride, he was one to whom she probably could, if 
she would, soon become fondly attached. No mar- 
vel, then, that she suffered, or that she wavered for 
a season, ere she decided whether to reject him, and 
continne to live on in a state of single blessedness, 
struggling with poverty with her sister Mary, or 
to accept a destiny with a comparatively easy exist- 
ence, and the strong arm of conjugal love to lean 
upon. 

The situation of poor Mary was pitiable indeed. 
It was the first real sorrow which she had ever 
known, where her affectionate Anna had not, by 
her peculiar, kindly, and sympathizing participa- 
tion, so shared it with her, that she could easily 
bear it. For Anna possessed more nerve and force 



68 SUFFERINGS. 

of character than her sister, who often manifested 
a degree of timidity, to which she was an entire 
stranger. This was, in fjict, the only observable 
point of difference in the dispositions of these sis- 
ters, and it made Mary feel the more dependant 
upon Anna. 

But she had a noble and generous nature — 
wishing to be nnselfish and self-sacrificing where 
duty required it. She evinced this now, for while 
suffering severely at the prospect of their parting, 
with a magnanimity worthy of her, she determined 
not to prove a hinderance or barrier to her sister's 
future happiness and well-being. She, therefore, 
endeavored to discipline her feelings so that she 
could appear to be composed in her presence. Yet, 
though sincere in this resolve, it px'oved all in 
vain ; her pale and speechless grief told that the 
effort was fruitless, and her situation caused much 
commiseration among their mutual friends. 

A day or two passed over, and the following 
morning the decision of Anna was to be made 
known to the anxiously expecting brother. It was 
generally supposed that she would give a favorable 
reply; but this was mere conjecture, as she kept 
her own counsel upon the subject, not making a 
confidant of any one. Perhaps, indeed, she might 
still have been dubious and hesitating. 

The whole sisterhood had retired for the night to 
their general dormitory, and were in the regions of 
forge tfulness, except two of its inmates, our sister 



THE DECISION. 69 

twins. E^oiiglit was heard but the deep, heavy 
breathing of the sleepers, save the distant sound 
of the hourly intercessory prayers, and a stifled 
sob which ever and anon reached the ears of the 
restless, wakeful Anna. It proceeded from her 
sister, wdiose little German bed was next to hers. 
It fell painfully npon her feelings. By and by she 
heard the affectionate girl mention her name ; she 
listened attentively, as with much emotion -she 
prayed most earnestly for her; for blessings with- 
out number to descend npon this beloved one ; to 
gild her future life with happiness ; and then with 
renewed sobs she entreated Heaven, if this dreaded 
separation had indeed to occnr, to give her the 
necessary strength and fortitude, to bear this severe 
trial of resigning this treasured object of her fond- 
est, dearest, earthly affection. She could say no 
more, for tears choked her utterance, and again she 
sobbed violently ; neither could her sister forbear 
any longer. Softly, but hastily, she neared her. 
In a brief period they were clasped in each other's 
a^-ms. Then only a few words were spoken, but 
they w^ere suflScient to ensure a lifetime of hap- 
piness, and both were weeping together for very 

joy. 

And wh}^ ? because the decision was made ; for 
Anna would not leave her dearest Mary, as Mary 
could not part from her. And at that moment 
they felt that they were dearer to each other than 
ever before. Then, to render their bliss complete, 



70 THE PLEDGE. 

this loving and affectionate pair pledged tliemselves 
never to separate ; that no earthly love or interest 
whatever should again overshadow with its dark- 
ness the very sunshine of their existence. 

At the time when this occurrence transpired, 
these girls had lost both of their parents, and were, 
I believe, about twenty years of age. In the quiet 
stillness of that night, with their arms still fondly 
entwined in a loving embrace, these orphan twins 
agreed not only in the future that tliey would love 
as sisters, but that they would both try to supply 
their parents' loss to each other ; and from hence- 
forth they were knoAvn througliout the settlement 
of Bethlehem, b}^ the names of Father and Mother 
"Werner. 

After this severe test of the strength of their 
mutual affection, the lives of Anna and Mary 
glided on peacefully and happily ; their sufferings 
having, if possible, increased the fervency of their 
sisterly love. ISTot a ripple of discontent disturbed 
the current of their calm and joyous existence. 
And although, for aught I knew to the contrary, 
they were comely maidens to look upon, and it 
may be were well fitted to fulfil the destiny of wo- 
man in all the interesting relations of her sex, and 
perchance more than one single brother thought 
BO ; yet they steadily persevered in keeping their 
pledge, and remained together two maiden twin- 
sisters. 

Years sped their way, producing their own 



AFFECTION. 71 

wondrous changes. It found them still toiling on 
in their laborious occupations, and earning a scanty 
subsistence. But their hearts continued unchanged 
in their fond devotion to each other, while their 
tempers and dispositions were as pleasant as ever. 
Oh, it must have been beautiful, methinks, to see 
them together, when their wearisome, daily work 
was done, apparently forgetting their fatigue in 
those enjoyments, which only such pure and pious 
affection can bestow. There, in the allotted corner 
of a neat sitting-room, with their arms around each 
other's neck, or their hands fondly resting together, 
our orphan twin-sisters were often seated, either 
engaged in converse about heavenly things, or join- 
ing some of their sister companions in singing por- 
tions of their favorite Moravian hymns. 

Time rolled on, and nearly thirty years had 
passed since Anna and Mary AYerner had pledged 
their eternal union in the stillness of their sleeping 
apartment. They still loved each other as tenderly, 
neither of tliem regretting the vow then made, 
and continued to be objects of interest and regard 
in the little community in which they lived. 

Ilow an interesting occurrence w^as about to 
transpire, which again brought them in especial 
notice. It is customary among the Germans to 
have certain domestic festivals to celebrate partic- 
ular events, such as birthdays, marriage-days, &c. 
These are occasions of great rejoicings, and much 
festivity and considerable ceremony are frequently 



72 PLEASANT ANTICIPATIONS. 

observed. Friends, too, are wont, at such seasons, 
to take the opportunity of making presents as to- 
kens of their affectionate remembrance, and some 
pleasant surprise often closes the joyous entertain- 
ment. 

Our twin-sisters had long resolved, that, if their 
lives were spared to see fifty years, that anniver- 
sary of their birth should be celebrated as a sort 
of jubilee with them. And to render the festivities 
on the occasion complete, they purposed to give 
a love- feast to the whole sisterhood of the place, 
and invite every one of them to be present ; and 
thus in fellowship together, to commemorate the 
blessings of their companionship, the haj^piness 
of their banded union. 

Hence this simple observance of their natal day 
was looked forward to with eager anticipations of 
delight, not only by the sister twins, but also by 
the entire members of the household. And indeed 
all the inhabitants of Bethlehem generally partici- 
pated in their pleasurable feelings, and many a one 
of them determined to contribute their quota to the 
felicity of this fondly attached pair. 

The time at length approached. Tlie day pre- 
ceding this memorable event had come. It was in 
the month of June, and the weather proved de- 
lightfully pleasant, while the air was redolent with 
the fragrance of many flowers. The whole sister- 
hood were in a state of excitement, of innocent and 
heartfelt pleasurable sensations. Their various occu- 



BIRTHDAr PREPARATIONS. 73 

pations for the day had to be suspended a little 
earlier than nsual, in consequence of the happy 
event of the morrow. And here and there several 
of their number were seen in groups together, busily 
engaged in discussing the programme of procedure 
for the occasion, while their countenances beamed 
with the reflected joyous emotions of their hearts. 

There is not to be found in this wide world of 
ours any people perhaps, wlio have a greater relish 
than the Germans for such kind of excitements ; 
more especially when the individuals for whom 
they are intended, are, as in this instance, worthy 
of it. The whole community in this Moravian 
settlement was an exemplification of this fact. The 
result of this maiden conference was, that Father 
and Mother Werner had for this once in their lives, 
to promise the obedience of children to their asso- 
ciate sisters. To this they cheerfully assented with 
childlike simplicity and happiness, and they were 
hurried off to bed very early in the evening. Then 
commenced the note of preparation for this impor- 
tant festival celebration. 

Their table was covered with a snow-white cloth, 
around which were carefully and tastefully pinned 
one hundred red roses, emblematical of their united 
ages, and of their maidenhood, pink and red being 
the colors worn by the Single Sisters. Besides these, 
some white ones were scattered upon the top, in 
allusion to the years they were perhaps yet to live. 
On the table various presents were fancifully laid, 
4 



74 THE SEEENADE. 

some of which were in envelopes bearing the names 
of the different donors, each containing some kind 
lines expressing congratulations, friendly wishes, a 
text of Scripture, or perhaps a stanza of some Mo- 
ravian hymn like the following : 

" Lord, strengthen thou their heart, 
To them such grace impart. 
That nought which may await them 
From thee may separate them ; 
Let them with thee, their Saviour, 
United be for ever." 

Bright rose the sun on the morrow ; but he had 
scarcely appeared above the horizon ere a consider- 
able number of that loving band of Moravian Single 
Sisters were noiselessly stirring. By and by sweet 
strains of delightful music broke the stillness of that 
quiet place. Melodious voices singing in concert, 
blending in perfect harmony with the sound of 
guitar, clarionet, and violin. It was a birthday 
serenr.d3 to our Orphan Twin Maidens ; and those 
tuneful notes and simple words of the sympathizing 
sisterhood, methinks, have floated down the stream 
of time to live on the page of history. Translated 
into English, one of them reads thus : 

" Unto thee, most gracious Saviour, 
These dear Sisters we commend ! 

Look on them in grace and favor, 
To their prayers and wants attend ; 

Grant them both a tender feeling, 

Of thy love and gracious dealing, 



PRESENTS. 75 

That their hearts may truly be 
FiU'd with fervent love to thee. 

" This alone can keep them steady 

In their simple path of grace, 
And when any thing seems ready 

To disturb their happiness, 
Lord, in mercy them deliver, 
Keep their feeble souls for ever 
From the world and sin secure. 
And in soul and body pure ! " 

This musical performance was immediately out- 
side of their sleeping apartment. 

Thus were Anna and Marj Werner wakened 
out of their peaceful slumbers on the morn of tliis 
auspicious day. Soon they were clasped in a fond 
embrace, while they bedewed each other's cheeks 
with tlie tears of grateful joy and of warm affec- 
tion. But their companions impatiently awaited 
tlieir coming, and I cannot stop to be prosy even if 
I would. After a brief interval they were in the 
midst of the kind-hearted sisterhood, where they 
were greeted by smiles and congratulations. 

Then pleased and delighted as childhood's hap- 
piest moments, were our twins, as they examined 
the various bii'thday offerings bestowed by their 
associates. Some of the benefactions were money, 
while others were ribbons, muslins, &c. And surely 
they were almost to be envied — they, the poor hard- 
working daughters of poverty, as they received 
these solid and substantial tokens of sisterly regard 



76 BIRTHDAY LEVEE. 

from many too, wlio, like themselves, were tlio 
children of i)enuiy, and had to earn their daily 
bread by very hard labor. 

Our orphan twins were simply dressed in white, 
exactly alike, and with scrnpnlous neatness. Ac- 
ccording to the Moravian customs of those times, 
all the sisterhood wore a peculiar cap, fastened 
under the chin with a bow of pink ribbon, the badge 
of their state of single blessedness. Thus arrayed, 
w^itli countenances radiant with happiness, these 
artless maidens held their first and only levee. 

It was attended, as proposed, by the inhabitants 
of the place generally ; and on account of the pe- 
cuniary condition of the tw4ns, the contributions 
they rendered consisted mostly of small sums of 
money. 

At this distance of time it is impossible to nar- 
rate the order of events as they occurred, or to enter 
into any detail. It must suffice therefore to say 
that this occasion proved a truly festive one, — and 
the whole day was one continuous scene of unal- 
loyed happiness to all the participants. 

The Lovefeast w^as held in the evening, and, I 
believe, confined exclusively to the sisterhood, ex- 
cept the wife of the officiating minister. Here an 
agreeable surprise awaited the twain. In the mid- 
dle of the hall was placed two chairs for them. 
Immediately before these, mounted on a pedestal, 
was a pyramid of paper in a wooden frame, illu- 
minated with one hundred wax candles all lighted — 



LOVEFEAST. T7 

wliile here and there might be seen one not lit — the 
former significant of their nnited ages, and the 
hitter to denote the possible years of their futnre. 
In the centre of the pyramid their names Avere fan- 
cifully written, surrounded and united by a garland 
of beautiful flowers. Underneath this was some 
appropriate device, and a suitable text of Scrip- 
ture. 

As the twins entered in to take their seats, they 
were met by several of the sisters, who escorted 
them thither. Meanwhile the music of all the con- 
gregated sisterhood mingling with the sounds of 
diflerent instruments greeted their coming. The 
brother who conducted the services on this interest- 
ing occasion, viewed the scene with no ordinary 
emotions of feeling. 

Between fifty and a hundred maidens were be- 
fore him, of various ages, complexions, and sizes — 
from blooming eighteen to wrinkled fourscore years 
or more — but all with warm and loving hearts. 
Each dressed in pure white, a flt emblem of their 
own unspotted lives, and of the heaven to which 
every one of them was aspiring. The minister 
must have realized this as he looked around him ; 
and I have been told that he was remarkably 
happy in parts of his address, and his prayer 
touching and marked with particular fervency of 
manner. 

The Lovefeast followed, after which the festivi- 
ties of the day soon closed. But the remembrance 



78 DEATH. 

of this birtliday celebration of the Twin Single Sis- 
ters remained fresh in their minds as long as they 
lived; neither was it, I fancy, ever forgotten by 
any of the participants. And from the treasured 
storehouse of the youthful recollections of one of 
the most beloved and juvenile of that affectionate 
sisterhood, I have draw^n the incidents of tliis nar- 
ration. 

Little more of interest to the reader remains to 
be told of the subsequent history of Anna and Mary 
"Werner. They both lived to a good old age, but 
their hopes of quitting the world at the same time 
were not realized. 

The first to die was Anna, that devoted one who 
had sacrificed the fair prospects of her young life 
npon the altar of sisterly affection, and who was 
generally known by the name of Father. She was 
long feeble, and finding lier health failing, and re- 
alizing her probable removal, she sought among 
her maiden companions for one to supply her place 
to her sister Mary, that she should not, she said, 
pine away or uselessly grieve for her. One was 
found — a kind-hearted creature who had long loved 
both of the sisters dearly. Anna directly after 
declined rapidly, but survived long enough to see 
her dearest one, with meek submission, prepared to 
resign her. Then leaning upon the shoulder of her 
faithful friend, witli her hand in Mary's, and her 
eyes fondly resting upon her, she calmly yielded 
her spirit to God. But the magic tie of life was 



DEATH. 79 

broken, and from this period the interest of Mary 
in sublunary things sensibly lessened ; and in death 
tliis fond pair were presently re-united, and they 
now sleep near together in the burial-ground of that 
Moravian settlement. 



BETHLEHEM SCHOOL. 

It was my intention originally to place all the 
sketches of Bethlehem together, and ere I gave any 
from the school. But for reasons not necessary to 
mention here, I have altered the arrangement to 
the present one, and will now bring before my 
readers other reminiscences of those days of my 
childhood, containing personal recollections of some 
of my teachers and schoolmates. 

Ere I enter, however, upon my sketches of any 
of either of these persons, from the characters I 
shall present to my readers, I deem it necessary to 
say a few words in reference to both of these dif- 
ferent classes of individuals of the school. 

With regard to the teachers, I will only observe 
concerning them, that I wish it to be borne in mind 
that I am speaking of the past, and not at all as the 
Institution is at present managed, but of the period 
at which I went there, when scarcely any were to 
be found as teachers within its walls, except those 
who belonged to the Society, and some of tJiese, 



TEACHERS. 81 

from age, deficiency of education, or otherwise, 
were not properly fitted for the undertaking. 

In truth, a portion of them were not at all cal- 
culated to teach any thing else but the simple rudi- 
ments ; while their ignorance of human nature in 
general, and consequent want of tact and manage- 
ment, rendered them wholly unfit to discipline tlie 
various dispositions placed under their charge. This 
arose in part from the difficulty sometimes occur- 
ring at that period, of obtaining from among them- 
selves suitable persons duly qualified for these situ- 
ations ; also from the fact, that the remuneration 
then given was so small, as to offer but little in- 
ducement for acceptance to superior teacliers ; and 
another reason, perhaps, was the peculiar ideas still 
prevalent in the Society upon the subject, which 
considered more the religious training and culture 
of the hearts of children, than the cultivation of 
their minds, and of some of the usual accomplish- 
ments of their sex ; and besides these reasons, this 
school, as well as the others established by tiie Mo- 
ravians, was not originally designed as a finishing 
seminar}^ for young ladies, I mean one where they 
could be thoroughly educated, but only adapted 
for cliildren, and promised nothing more than a 
plain and useful education. 

Yet, under the charge of the Rev. Mr. Stein- 
haur, who was the Principal duiing a pai-t of my 
stay in the Institution, it gradually materially chang- 
ed its character. He immediately sent to England 
4* 



82 SCHOLARS. 

for several very excellent and competent teacliers ; 
next older scholars were admitted, and new regula- 
tions were made ; wliile otliers were modified, or so 
altered as to suit the wishes and wants of its numer- 
ous patrons and friends; which has resulted in the 
present jDopularitj of this Institution with the public. 

In reference to the scholars, of whom sketches 
will be found in tliis volume, it will be perceived 
that they embrace quite a variety of character, and 
the reminiscences concerning them differ consider- 
ably from each other — indeed, as much so as the 
individuals themselves, whom tliey are severally in- 
tended to represent. And as far as I can come to 
a certainty of the matter, they are all reliable state- 
ments of facts relating to these schoolmates of 
mine — of circumstances detailed which did actually 
occur, excej)t when I distinctly state that such pos- 
sibly was not the case — and besides, perhaps these 
various events did not happen exactly in the order 
narrated here. 

But while writing upon this subject, I would say 
to my readers, that I wish them to remember, that 
as in large schools in general, so also at Bethlehem, 
the pujDils came not only from many different 
places, but under various dissimilar circumstances, 
and were besides of almost every rank of life, dis- 
position and habits. Some of these girls had been 
thoroughly spoilt ere they were brought there. These 
tried the tempers and patience of our teachers very 
much, by their improper behavior. In truth, in 



CHAEACTERS. 83 

consequence of having been previously mismanaged 
iit home, tliey were phiced under the mild govern- 
ment of the school, in the hope that thej would be 
benefited thereby. Besides, there were some of 
reckless and daring natures, or full of fun and 
mischief; while others manifested worse traits of 
character, such as envy, malice, jealousy, pride, 
selfishness, artfulness and cunning. In short, I be- 
lieve we had exemplifications of almost all the com- 
mon natural infirmities of disposition belonging to 
our humanity ; and all expected to be subjugated, 
or brought under control by teachers, to most of 
whom, from their own peculiar education r^nd in- 
experience of life, it w^as really a very weighty and 
ponderous undertaking. And when they were of 
amiable and gentle natures, as several whom I 
could mention, I marvel not that they shrank from 
continuing any longer than possible to discharge 
this responsibility. 

And with these prefatory remarks of my asso- 
ciates at Bethlehem School, I pass to the subject of 
the following sketch 



KATIE SULLIYAlSr AND SISTEE MOCK. 

The schoolmate of mine whom I shall designate 
here by the name of Katie Sullivan, was a strange 
wild-looking girl in appearance, and still stranger 
in character and disposition. Indeed, to my think- 
ing, she bore so strong a resemblance in all these 
lineaments of herself to the native aborigines of this 
country, that I have always been under the impres- 
sion, that she certainly must have been closely re- 
lated to them by the ties of consanguinity. 

She was, if my memory does not deceive me, 
somewhere between twelve and thirteen years of 
age when she entered the school, and brought 
thither by a couple who, we were informed, were 
her father' and stepmother ; a youth accompanied 
them, the only brother of Katie, who was to be 
placed at Nazareth Hall. 

They were a singular-looking party, these four 
people, and there was much to attract attention to 
them, not only in this respect, but for another rea- 
son which I will directly speak of : but I pass now 
to describe them as well as I am able from memory, 



THE FARMER AND HIS WIFE. 85 

as they now present themselves before my mind's 
eye. 

To begin with the head of this family — the fa- 
ther. He was, I believe, a farmer ; plain and rus- 
tic in appearance ; habited in coarse garments, I 
should judge of domestic manufacture; of subdued 
aspect and manners ; serious to gravity, and evi- 
dently under considerable restraint. His wife was 
a dowdy-looking woman, whose habiliments were 
originally of much costlier materials than her hus- 
band's, but now considerably w^orn ; and the fashion 
thereof, which looked every thing else but genteel, 
was altogether peculiar to herself. Besides, she liad 
a hard forbidding countenance of mahogany color, 
and seemed very repulsive, and shockingly disa- 
greeable in her whole conduct and bearing. This 
she particularly manifested in her behavior to her 
husband and his children ; the former of whom she 
treated as a mere cipher, w^ithout any respect 
whatever ; while to the latter she had not a kindly 
word, but assumed towards them a harsh, dictato- 
rial style of language, for which she received in re- 
turn from both, ever and anon, a look of proud de- 
fiance and hate. She did all the talking in behalf 
of Katie, and made every arrangement ; her hus- 
band meekly standing by and not uttering a word 
on the occasion. 

The son was a shy, awkward lad of fourteen 
years old, clothed in common domestic ; and I 
remember nothing more of his appearance, except 



S6 THE BKOTIIER AND SISTEK. 

that he was tall, and of dark complexion ; while 
his sister Katie had a darker hne, with not any- 
pretty featui-es except her eyes, which, it seems to 
me, were as black as possible, and capable, methinks, 
of the greatest variety of expression. Her hair, 
too, was of correspondent color : it was black, long, 
straight, and wiry : her face oval, and her form 
slender and rather graceful. She was dressed in 
very ordinary attire — aye, positively, quite mean 
and shabby. I cannot now recollect it exactly, but 
I remember she had on a cheap calico frock ; 
an old chip hat ; and a faded cotton shawl : while 
the wdiole of the rest of her wardrobe I believe was 
contained in a moderately sized coarse linen bag, 
wdiich her brother had in charge. 

Such was the appearance of this group, and un- 
der such unfavorable auspicies did Katie Sullivan 
make her debut at Bethlehem School. It was under 
these disadvantageous circumstances, that she took 
her place among the pu})ils of the Institution : and 
it proved exceedingly unfortunate to the poor girl, 
that such w^as the case ; since it subjected her to 
an infinite variety of aimoyances and grievous mor- 
tifications. 

For the human mind being prone to be influ- 
enced in its impressions of others considerably by 
external appearances, it is no marvel that she suf- 
fered in consequence in the judgment and consid- 
eration of her associates, nearly all of whom were 
children, and that they immediately formed strong 



PREJUDICES. 87 

prejudices against her : indeed for a space it seemed 
that no one in the Establishment was at all prepos- 
sessed in her favor, but on the contrary, the bias 
universally turned in the opposite direction. 

At this period, Katie was truly a lonely and 
isolated being — alone, friendless, and desolate ; — 
yet with a gathered band of young people about 
her, in a large school, then numbering at least one 
hundred and fifty inmates, few of whom scarcely 
noticed her, by speaking a kindly word, or taking 
any but the most ordinary interest in her. Some 
of her schoolmates ev^en demurred walking beside 
her to church, or anywhere else. Poor Katie felt 
all this peculiar conduct to herself very keenly : 
she soon suspected the reason, when she painfully 
realized, that it was because of the meanness of her 
clothing, and her supposed inferiority to themselves 
in point of real position in life, that they thus acted 
towards her. She was of a very high-spirited, sen- 
sitive nature ; consequently it goaded her feelings 
terribly, and she winced with very pain at the 
thought. But hers was not a disposition to brood 
over unpleasant realities, and make herself long 
uselessly unhappy about disagreeable or embarrass- 
ing circumstances over which she had no control ; 
nor to receive insult without retaliation. 

She possessed strong passions, powerful impul- 
ses, and great force of character, and yet some of 
the most noble and excellent qualities of mind and 
heart ; but the former had, as yet, been much more 



88 TKE STEPMOTHER. 

developed than the latter. Long years of constant 
ill-treatment from an unkind stepmother had fos- 
tered these characteristics, besides, had encouraged 
vindictiveness, and inclined her to indulge a bitter 
spirit and hatred to her kind, whenever she con- 
sidered herself aggrieved by them. And, child as 
she was, she had so studied human nature, tliat she 
understood liow to command fear, if not love. She 
had learned, also, how to trample down all opposi- 
tion to herself, as well as to force those whom she 
would, to succumb to her wishes ; for she was a 
singularly gifted girl, this Katie Sullivan. 

Her schoolmates soon discovered this, and that 
if she had not been favored by fortune equal to 
themselves, and instead, was poor and of low de- 
gree, that she could not be treated as an insignifi- 
cant person, with whose feelings they might trifle 
with impunity. In addition, they perceived that 
her temper was implacable ; that she was full of re- 
sentment ; suspicious and malicious ; besides, when 
angrj^, that lier temper was truly terrific ; and then 
how insatiable was her revenge, and how ccjt^inly 
she visited it upon her unfortunate victim. Yet 
while thus vindictive and malevolent to those who 
inflicted any injury to her pride or self-love, she 
evinced the most grateful affection and devotion 
towards those who befriended her, and there was 
no service whatever in her power, which she did 
not seek to render them. She cordially sympa- 
thized in all their trials, griefs or difficulties, mak- 



KATIE. 89 

ing them her own. She espoused their cause when- 
ever they needed a champion ; faithfully and suc- 
cessfully too ; for I believe she always came off 
victor. Such w^as my schoolmate, who appears 
here under the cognomen of Katie Sullivan, and as 
one of the companions of my childhood who then 
particularly interested me, I present her to my 
readers, to give a brief sketch of some of her say- 
ings and doings while at Bethlehem. 

I have said that Katie was poor, and so she cer- 
tainly appeared to be during all the time she was 
there ; and such w^as the general impression while 
she remained in the school, as her wardrobe con- 
tinued always very scanty, neither was she allowed 
a cent of pocket-money. In consequence, as was 
natural, the supposition prevailed that the family 
must be in restricted circumstances ; but I have 
since been informed that such was not really the 
case, and to her stepmother, ascribed the sole 
cause of all her deprivations. And I have no 
doubt, as I have intimated, that the situation in 
which she had found herself placed with this rela- 
tive, was the means of developing so strongly while 
so young, the unamiable lineaments of disposition 
which 1 have mentioned. 

'Now leave we for a space the unfortunate 
Katie, to speak of another of my cotemporaries and 
hers at Bethlehem School, whom it is necessary for 
me here to introduce to m^^ readers. It may bo 
that to some of them she is not a stranger, but that 



90 SISTER MOCK. 

tliey recognize in her a former teacher; and to 
such, methinks, her name will awaken memories of 
the past, and perha2:)s they may be familiar with a 
portion, at least, of the incidents concerning her, 
given in the following pages. 

In fact, all the ladies wdio were at Bethlehem 
School within a few years of the first forty years of 
this century, will doubtless recollect Sister Mack, 
or Mock, as she was universally called throughout 
the place. It is fitting that I speak of her here, as 
she is closely connected with most of the occur- 
rences I mean to narrate of Katie Sullivan. 

She was a daughter of a missionary associated 
for a space with the father of Sister Charity, another 
of our teachers, when laboring in behalf of the In- 
dians in Connecticut, and suftered severely in con- 
sequence of the hostility of the savages to the gos- 
pel. From Bishop Holmes's notice of this mis- 
sionary, we gather in addition, the following facts : 
that he labored as such, successfully and accepta- 
bly in the Society, for a period of more than fifty 
years, nearly half of which time among the JSTorth 
American Indians, while he passed the residue of 
his days in the West India field with the negroes. 
His children, three daughters, were all born, I be- 
lieve, while engaged in the first-mentioned under- 
taking. Two of them married clergymen of their 
own communion, while Sister Mock, who, I have 
been told, would fain have followed their example, 
or gone forth as a missionary, was never called 



A CHARACTER. 91 

Upon to fill either situation, but ever remained 
single, and continued to reside at Bethlehem. 
Tliere, where she was best known, it is my impres- 
sion that she never made many friends, nor was 
she, I should judge, ever popular in the school. 

In truth, she had so many infirmities of temper, 
such a number of unamiable traits of disposition, 
that I marvel not if only a few persons were found 
generous and kind enough in their natures, to be 
able to find a mantle of charity sufficiently large 
and thick, so to keep them from view, as to allow^ 
them to entertain sentiments, either of respect or 
aflfection for her. Thus, I thought as a child, and 
subsequently for a considerable period ; but, as years 
23assed by, with added wisdom and experience of 
life, I am disposed to judge her difierently, and to 
regard her many inconsistencies of character with 
more leniency and forbearance. For Sister Mock 
was an aged woman, perhaps somewdiat in her 
dotage, and besides, had been constantly engaged 
in the one w^earisome, tiying employment of teach- 
ing for the space, I believe, of about thirty years ; 
a sufficient time, methinks, to have exhausted all 
her few natural amiable qualities. 

But to desciibe her more particularly. The old 
lady was not an ill-looking woman ; her features 
were rather good ; her form not very tall, slight, and 
remarkably erect, wdiile her manners, to a stranger, 
were quite plausible. The style of her dress was, 
of course, the prevailing mode of the Moravian 



92 DISPOSITION, 

sisterhood, whicli I have fully described ; but in 
addition, she indulged in the eccentricity of vary- 
ing it on Saturdays, to the night-dress of the conv 
ing week, with a white dimity petticoat. And 
altogether habited in spotless white, with her sal- 
low countenance, she presented somewhat of a sin- 
gular appearance. 

At the period of which I am w^riting, she was 
considered almost superannuated, and, in conse- 
quence, lived in the room with her wddowed sister, 
old Mammy Schlegel, who had charge of the town 
and German children, the day scholars of the 
school. Sister Mock assisted her, and had no 
other duty besides that I can remember, to perform 
in reference to the other pupils in the institution. 
But she had a very meddlesome spirit; was a great 
busy-body, quick-tempered, deceptive, and not dis- 
creet in the use of her tongue. It will not be won- 
dered, therefore, that she was generally disliked 
in the school ; nor did the scholars respect her ; in 
consequence, some of them indeed were so naughty 
as to play tricks upon her. Of several of these, I 
have forgotten the perpetrators ; but I recollect a 
number which were performed by Katie Sullivan, 
the narration of which, should she now be living, 
and this simple record of them meet her eye, 
methinks, would probably recall them to remem- 
brance ; besides, cause her immediately to recog- 
nize herself, in the heroine of this sketch. Of 
those I remember, I have selected the following, 



INSULT. 93 

and give tliem as well as my memory serves me, 
in the order in which they occurred. 

Katie had done something which oifended Sister 
Mock. I cannot recollect now what it was, but I 
remember she became very much incensed in con- 
sequence. The old lady was exceedingly passion- 
ate and vituperative in language. Katie, in return, 
provoking and saucy. This increased the wrath of 
Sister Mock, when she made matters worse and 
worse by the course she pursued ; for as was her 
wont when vexed, she did not stop to choose her 
words, and said some very insulting things to Katie, 
which the high-spirited girl neither could nor would 
bear silently. She retaliated upon her in no meas- 
ured terms of opprobrium, which produced in reply 
from Sister Mock, language still more offensive and 
repugnant to the feelings of the poor girl. She re- 
minded her of the ragged condition she was in 
when she entered the school — aye, reproached her 
most cruelly with it — told her that she was no better 
than a beggar, and deserved never to be any thing 
else ; expressed wonder that any of her schoolmates 
demeaned themselves so much as to hold any inter- 
course whatever with her ; and they were only ac- 
tuated to do so, from sentiments of pity ; and tliat 
slie was more of a savage than any other kind of 
human being, together with other words of similar 
imjDort, and quite as abusive. 

Katie, at this time, had attained to a position in 
the school, and no longer quite as desolate and friend- 



94 THREATENED REVENGE. 

less there as formerly ; for some of her schoolmates 
now more or less associated with her, and she was 
beginning to indulge the hope, that, perhaps the 
first unpleasant impressions concerning her were 
fading from their i-emembrance, when thus unfor- 
tunately recalled to their minds. Hence no marvel 
with her disposition, that as Katie heard the old 
lady thus talk of her, reviving circumstances which 
she only desired to be forgotten as speedily as pos- 
sible, that her temper w^as aroused, that she became 
perfectly furious. She turned, at first, deadly pale, 
and trembled with rage ; nor could she for a space 
command herself sufiiciently to answer her at all — 
excessive anger preventing her; but at length she 
found words, and they were severe and bitter in 
the greatest degree, while her eyes flashed with 
indescribable scorn and contempt. All present 
looked on with perfect amazement and dread at 
what was to follow. Presently she became more 
calm ; then deliberately, yet with a voice unsteady 
with emotion, she observed : 

" You have said that to me. Sister Mock, which 
I will neither ever forgive nor forget, and I will 
make you sorry for it ; yes, mark me, you shall 
certainly repent of it," and tlien she hastily with- 
drew from her presence. And the exasperated girl 
doubtless would have fulfilled her threatened re- 
solve, had not one of our teachers — Sister II. — suc- 
ceeded in preventing her. 

This lady's sympathies had become enlisted in 



SISTER H . 95 

behalf of the poor gn*l. She was studying her dis- 
position, in order to be better able to understard 
liow to control it ; for she meant to use every effort 
in her poAver to bring her apparently nngovernable 
nature into subjection. She was a woman of a 
great deal of decision and firmness of cliaracter ; 
sensible, amiable, and of good judgment ; gentle 
in discipline, very affectionate, and as well able as 
any of our teachers in the school to accomplish this 
object. She found it, liowever, a truly discourag- 
ing undertaking, for as yet, she had not made much 
impression upon the strange, incomprehensible na- 
ture of this pupil, yet she determined to persevere ; 
and as there were some indications about Katie 
that she was beginning to understand and appre- 
ciate her feelings towards her, it cheered her with 
the hope of ultimate success. 

And here I would observe, for the sake of pre- 
venting any wrong impression upon the subject, 
that neither Katie Sullivan nor Sister Mock, were 
samples of the pupils or teachers of Bethlehem 
School ; such characters — I allude particularly to 
the latter — I am glad to say were rare in that estab- 
lishment, and the old lady was ]3robably almost the 
only teacher in the Institution whom any of the schol- 
ars would have dared to treat with the same disre- 
spect, such conduct not being allowed there ; but 
be it remembered that Katie Sullivan was altogether 
a most remarkable cliaracter ; and that Sister Mock 
was quite as peculiar in her way. 



96 EXPOSTULATION. 

Two siicli natures as theirs, of course, could 
never assimilate ; although, as will be seen in the 
sequel, they so far conquered their mutual aver- 
sion, that they were considerably mollified to each 
other. And with this change it is to be hoped that 
both became endowed altogether with better char- 
acters, and more attractive qualities of mind and 
heart. 

From this digression, I turn to resume the 
thread of my narration. I was speaking of Katie 
Sullivan, and of her determination to be revenged 
upon Sister Mock for the outrage she had commit- 
ted upon her feelings, and that Sister H. prevented 
it. She did not, however, directly take any steps 
in the matter, but left Katie to herself, until she 
was somewliat cooled in temper. She then took 
her aside, and spoke calmly to her upon the sub- 
ject. 

At first Katie would not listen to any extenua- 
tion of Sister Mock's conduct, but remained firm in 
her resolve — was full of bitter resentment and vin- 
dictive feelings towards tlie old lady. But Sister 
H. persevered in her endeavors to soften her hard 
and obdurate spirit. She spoke very wdsely and ju- 
diciously. She admitted that Sister Mock had done 
wrong in thus sj)eaking of her ; yet at tlie same 
moment tried to convince Katie that she too, was 
greatly to blame ; for she had allowed herself to 
use exceedingly unbecoming language to Sister 
Mock, who she ought to remember w^as old, and 



THE SECRET KESOLVE. 97 

on that very account, if for no otlier, entitled to 
her respect ; and besides, considerable allowances 
should be made for wliat she said, as she probably 
was more or less childish. 

This conversation made some impression upon 
Katie, yet only with a partial good effect ; for the 
result was, that she promised not to inflict the 
threatened harm upon the old lady ; yet, she had 
not forgiven her : she felt she owed her a grudge : 
she therefore resolved that she would at least play 
her a trick : and she watched for an opportunity, 
which soon occurred. 

It was on the 4th of May, the Single Sisters' 
Festival — one of the peculiar observances of the 
Moravians, which as I mean to describe fully else- 
where, I will only now say of it, that it was the 
great day of the year to all of our teachers, who 
were still in the state of single blessedness ; or if 
not so, the Society intended it should be. It was a 
day universally kept in the place by all the maid- 
ens of every age, or degree in life; and with all 
more or less if possible with some floral deco- 
rations. 

It was customary in the school among the schol- 
ars to participate in a measure in these festival cel- 
ebrations; sometimes indeed only by kind wishes 
and congratulations, but oftener in other ways. 
For instance, some of them previously agreed upon, 
rose earlier than their wont on that particular morn- 
mg ; a selected number of whom — good singers — 
5 



98 

wakened the teachers from their slumbers by a vo- 
cal serenade. 

Yet this was not all the attention they honored 
this observance ; for in one or more of the rooms, 
the day was sometimes, though rarely, further re- 
marked by another demonstration — having a festal 
table. But as this act usually emanated from schol- 
ars of any particular division of the school, and en- 
tirely a voluntary contribution on their part, it was 
generally the most liberally accorded to the teach- 
ers, who were the most popular with tlieir charge. 

The young ladies of our room this year, being so 
happily situated with those who had them under their 
especial supervision, determined to outdo all the other 
sets of scholars in the school, on this occasion, in giving 
this pleasure, as a small memento of their affection- 
ate consideration for them, and made tlieir arrange- 
ments accordingly. First, they secretly subscribed 
among themselves, sufficient money to purchase a 
certain quantity of wine and nice cake — next, they 
provided a clean white table-cloth, glasses, &c., 
some pink ribbon to aid in the decoi-ations. The 
best writer in the room meanwhile had penned a 
congratulatory note, which the best composer had 
indited, to which was appended* all our names, 
begging our beloved teachers' acceptance of our 
united offering. This was fancifully tied with pink 
ribbon, and subsequently placed upon the table. 

All the above articles were ready in season for 
the places assigned them. We had been successful 



THE PROPOSITION. 99 

in obtainino^ every thing we desired, except the 
necessary amount of flowers. It so happened that 
we were unprovided witli roses, we had not been 
able to procure any. In fact, the spring that year 
w^as rather backward, and there were only a few 
persons in the town who had many of them. Yet 
we could not dress a Single Sisters' Festival Table, 
without their favorite flower. The query now was, 
where there were any, next, how we could provide 
ourselves with them. 

At this juncture, some one recollected the cir- 
cumstance of Sister Mock having quite a consider- 
able number in her arbor in the Pleasure Ground, 
which she had carefully nurtured to grace her own 
Festival table. Directly after this observation was 
made, Katie Sullivan's eyes glistened with pleasure, 
while an indescribable expression of satisfaction 
passed over her dark and usually immobile coun- 
tenance ; then in an animated and assured tone of 
voice, she said : 

" Make youreselves easy, girls, about the roses, 
leave the getting of them entirely to me, and you 
may be certain that if they are to be had, you will 
not be disappointed. You know I did not sub- 
scribe any money to this object, but instead, I hope 
it will be in my power to furnish all the flowers we 
need for the table." 

Her schoolmates looked at her inquiringly ; she 
said, however, nothing further upon the subject ; 
yet early on the eventful morning, we found that 



100 THE KOBBEKY. 

she liad gathered quite a quantity of green leaves, 
and a few common early spring flowers, but where 
she obtained them did not transpire. A^^d after 
breakfast, and during the interval of our teachers' 
attending the first of their religious services for the 
day, she again absented herself. 

This was the hour usually appropriated to ar- 
range the Table, and we lost not a moment in our 
preparations. We had just commenced, however, 
wdien Katie Sullavan came into the room, almost 
breathless with haste, laden with rosj^ treasures, 
which she displayed to all our delighted eyes. 

" Beautiful ! beautiful ! beautiful ! " was the re- 
peated exclamation. "But where did you get 
them, Katie ? " was the eager inquiry of many 
voices. She replied not. 

" Pray did you not take them from Sister 
Mock's arbor ? " 

" Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no 
lies," was the answer given ; " but mark me," she 
continued, rolling around her large black eyes, 
until she took its all in the survey, " if either of 
you breathe a syllable about this, so that Sister 
Mock at all suspects me, I will make you rue it, so 
every one of you mind to hold your tongues ; and 
now let us be busy, for we have no time to lose." 

Then fast went our fingers, and we made a 
beautiful garland around the table, and two very 
good-sized bouquets. We arranged these in their 
proper places, together with all other articles we 



THE DISCOVERY. 101 

had gathered for the occasion ; and liad scarcely fin- 
islied doing this, when our teachers returned from 
churcli. Then well were w^e recompensed for our la- 
])or of love, in their delighted surprise and pleasure ; 
while we looked on pleased at their gratification, 
and in the consciousness of contributing so much 
to their enjoyments of the day. 

Then presently it became noised about in the 
school, what the girls in the third room had done 
on this occasion ; and as we were the only set 
of scholars that year who paid this compliment to 
their teachers, it excited tlie more talk and ob- 
servation. In consequence, group after group both 
of teachers and scholars, visited our room in order 
to see it, and foremost among the former came Sister 
Mock. 

The old lady no sooner presented herself, than 
all of us gave an involuntary rapid and anxious 
glance at Katie, who seemed annoyed by it, but 
only in return, put a finger to her lips, and mo- 
tioned us to withdraw our gaze — then assumed a 
perfectly imperturbed countenance. 

In the meanwhile, Sister Mock went to the 
table, and we perceived her directly examine the 
garland, and not one of us, except Katie Sullivan, 
could refrain from a smile ; but she apparently did 
not at all notice her. Yet the old lady only stayed a 
few moments ; she left the room, and in a brief space 
after, we marked her wending her steps as quickly 
as possible in the direction of the Pleasure Ground, 



102 PASSION. 

from whence she presently returned, and was again 
hi our midst. 

She was now evidently much excited and out 
of breath, and obliged to rest a moment to recover 
herself ere she could speak ; then again walking up 
to the table, she took up one of the bouquets there- 
on, pointed to some of the roses there, and said 
these, or similar words : 

" Yes, a fine show you have got here, girls ! — 
and with my roses too ! — but I know full well who 
did it — Sullivan was the thief; yes, you wicked 
girl, I know you took them." 

Katie immediately flew into a passion. " Prove 
it," she replied, '' prove it, I say," her eyes flashing 
meanwhile, with the excitement she was in ; " or I 
certainly will make you sorry for what you have 
called me." 

Sister Mock looked anxiously around. '' Tell 
me, girls," she continued, appealing to the rest of 
us in a coaxing tone, " are not these my roses, and 
did not she take them ? " 

But the basilisk eyes of Katie Sullivan were 
upon us, and we were all too much afraid of her to 
dare, if we would, give the required answer. 

Our silence did but exasperate the old lady the 
more. " You Hottentot — you savage — you — " 

" Stop ! stop " — interrupted the dreadful girl — 
" take care what you say, how you call me names ! 
I tell you, I will not suffer it from you with impu- 
nity, old as you are ! — but I repeat, prove that I 



OPPROBRIOUS EPITHETS. 103 

took your roses, and tlien you may brand me as a 
thief, although I was not before aware of the fact, 
that either the roses or the arbor were exclusively, 
rightfully belonging alone to you ! " 

As the scholars persevered in preserving this 
secret, of course she could not prove this allegation. 
Yet ever after Sister Mock was very apt, when 
speaking of Katie, particularly wdien she was not 
present, to designate her by the obnoxious epithet 
of the thief Sullivan : and thus the feud between 
the twain continued and increased. 

In truth tlie old lady was very prone to call the 
scholars names ; and Hottentot, Savage, and Es- 
quimaux, were common aj)pellations when she was 
angry with them ; while my child, and daughter, 
were bestowed when she was in good humor, espe- 
cially to the few who happened to be her favorites. 

But to return to Katie Sullivan. From the date 
of the preceding occurrence her feelings towards 
Sister Mock were perfectly inimical and revengeful, 
and many a proof had the old lady of the endurance 
of her unkind disposition to her. Yet Katie always 
managed to use such precautionary measures as to 
enable her to escape being convicted of any of these 
offences against the comfort or happiness of the 
poor old woman. As I write, quite a number of 
these incidents recur to me, and the most clever 
trick perhaps she ever played npon her, was the 
following : 

It was in the summer of the same year when 



104 VISITORS. 

two ladies came to Bethlehem, one of whom had 
formerly been a pupil in the Institution, when it 
seems she had been an especial favorite with Sister 
Mock. As usual on such occasions, this lady soon 
found her way to the school, where she impatiently 
hurried to the room occupied by Sister Mock and 
her sister. It w^as easily found, it being the first 
apartment that met the view upon entering the 
principal door of the building. 

It was after duty hours, and the two old Mo- 
ravian sisters were entirely alone when the visitors 
arrived. 

" And this is Sister Mock, is it not ? " exclaimed 
the younger of these ladies — " dear Sister Mock ! " 

" Yes, that is my name," replied the old lady — 
at the same time looking earnestly at the inquirer. 

" I thought that I was right — that I could not 
be mistaken," said the other. *' Oh ! I am so very 
glad to see you. How do you do ? and how have 
you been this very long time — and how well you 
look, considering your age. Oh, how glad I am to 
be once more at Bethlehem, and to see one of my 
teachers," — then throwing her arms affectionately 
around the old lady, she kissed her repeatedly. 

Sister Mock cordially returned the salute, though 
in truth she really did not know who it was that so 
warmly greeted her, nor could she at all imagine 
it, not being able to recall a single lineament of her 
features to her remembrance. 

But the lady's veil partially covered her face ; 



MAGGIE SLOCUM. 105 

she however removed this obstruction, yet no recog- 
nition was the consequence. The lady must have 
perceived this, for she observed — 

" Oh, I am afraid that you do not remember 
me ; I am very sorry, but perhaps you may recol- 
lect my name — Maggie Slocum." 

" Oh, certainly I do ! but surely you cannot be 
her." 

" Yes, yes," replied the lady, laughing, " it is 
the same." 

" It cannot be possible ! " said Sister Mock, 
"that this is indeed my dear Maggie, my little 
daughter, as I used to call you." 

" Yes, it is the same, the very same," answered 
the lady, warmly, pressing the hand of her former 
instructress. 

" AYell, well, I must believe that it is really so ; 
but you are so altered, and it is so many years since 
you were here, that you must not wonder, nor be 
hurt, that I did not remember that it was you." 

" Oh no, certainly not," was the answer. 

" Well, I am really glad to see you," replied 
Sister Mock ; and again they had a hugging and 
kissing time, with many expressions of mutual kind 
feelings of interest. 

Then Maggie introduced her companion, who, I 
believe, was a near relative of hers — an aunt, if I 
remember right. She said that she was travelling 
witb this lady on account of her health, which had 
become exceedingly feeble ; that they, with several 
5* 



106 INVITATION TO TEA. 

of their friends, were sojourning at tlie present at 
Schooley's Mountain, and being so near to Beth- 
lehem, she persuaded her to accompany her thither 
to j)ass a little while in a place where she had spent 
a portion of her childhood. And then this pupil 
of former days talked with her aged teacher for 
some time upon various matters, which she supposed 
would interest Sister Mock, giving her an outline 
of her own individual history since she left school, 
besides telling her some particulars of several of 
her schoolmates there which had come to her knowl- 
edge, all of which information apparently gave the 
old lady considerable pleasure. 

Sister Mock expressed herself highly delighted 
with this visit, and she pressed Maggie earnestly to 
remain longer with her friend, and to take tea with 
her. But the invalid was too much fatigued to do 
so ; however, as they intended to remain over the 
next day at Bethlehem, they accepted the invitation 
for the following evening. And with this under- 
standing the visitors left. 

It so happened that there had been a witness to 
this meeting — an attentive listener to the whole of 
the conversation — who let not a word escape her, 
and closely observed every article of dress, together 
with the manners peculiar to this Maggie, to serve 
a purpose immediately originating in her fertile 
brain, and which I mean now, as well as I can, 
fully to relate. It was one of the scholars who thus 
listened, planned, and observed ; and my readers 



THE SECRET MEETING. 107 

probably will not be surprised to learn that it was 
Katie Sullivan, nor be slow in guessing the nature 
of the intentions of this designing girl. 

But to proceed with my narrative. No sooner 
had the ladies departed, aye, even ere Sister Mock 
had taken her final farewell of tliem for the day, 
than Katie, full of her purposed scheme, had glided 
quietly from her hiding-place, walked hastily but 
stealthily away to some retired spot, there to cogi- 
tate how best to carry it successfully into exe- 
cution. 

That same evening a number of her room-mates 
were summoned by Katie in the apartment adjoin- 
ing our school-room, known by the name of the 
next room^ but which was in fact our dressing-room. 
When all were assembled, she said that she had a 
communication to make, to which every one pres- 
ent must promise her, not only to observe the most 
inviolable secrecy, but also to co-operate with her 
as much as she desired in reference thereto, — 
then seeing some of them looking anxious, she 
added : 

" You can easily do this, girls, for I will not get 
you in any scrape : do not be afraid of that, for 
should there be any trouble in consequence, there 
is no danger that you will be involved thereby." 

Her schoolmates upon this assurance gave the 
required promise. But to insure our secrecy in the 
matter, she took first the little finger of one, then 
another, until she had all linked in hers — and fixing 



108 

her penetrating black eyes upon eacli individual, 
she said in a solemn, emphatic tone, — 

" Pinky — pinky bo-bell, 
Whoever tells a lie : 

"Will sink down in the bad place, 
And never rise again." 

After repeating these foolish lines over separately 
to all present, she added : 

" And now girls you are bound by an oath not 
to divulge what I am going to tell you. It is a 
very serious thing; for, remember, if you break 
your word you will certainly go to old Nick, who, 
if he gets you into his clutches, will as surely burn 
you up." And her schoolmates, awed by her man- 
ner, trembled as they reiterated the required prom- 
ise of secrecy. 

Having thus secured their silence upon the sub- 
ject, and consequently much of the risk of discovery, 
Katie without further preamble, mentioned the ar- 
rival of these visitors to Sister Mock, and of the 
invitation she gave them for the coming evening ; 
then disclosed her intention of making it the oppor- 
tunity of playing the old lady a good trick. She 
meant, she said, to personate this Maggie in order 
to take tea with Sister Mock, and eat up some of 
the good things provided for the occasion. 

" And now girls," continued the artful Katie, "I 
have let you in the secret, because I want your aid 
to perfect my plans, and I must be furnished from 



PREPARA.TION. 109 

your trunks with the necessary articles of dis- 
guise." 

This requisition was readily j^romised, though 
some of us endeavored to dissuade her from her 
purpose, but she was inflexible in her determination 
— alienee it proved of no avail. But I confess that 
I became so frightened at her daring that I would 
have nothing to do further in the affair, except to 
look at her after she was fully rigged for the under- 
taking. 

Katie, among other endowments of nature, was 
an excellent mimic. She could talk, walk, or act 
almost like an3^body she chose, and was able to 
imitate the manners of a finished lady as well as of 
a person of low life ; and as she was a remarkable 
close observer, it took her but a short space to study 
any character she wished to represent. 

As early as she could on the succeeding after- 
noon, after school hours, she was up in the trunk- 
room with some of her schoolmates, one of whom 
she stationed at each door as sentinels upon guard, 
to give intimation of the approach of any persons 
thither, who w^ere unacquainted with the affair. 
And then there was such a tumbling of clothes out 
of trunks ; putting them in again ; making the ne- 
cessary selection ; then fitting them on ; for she must 
be dressed precisely as Maggie had been yesterday. 
Fortunately, for her purpose, she could easily do 
this, as that lady was in second mourning, and her 
.'less was black silk. 



110 THE DISGUISE. 

When Katie had gathered to2:ether whatever 
she wanted, the articles were taken down stairs into 
the little kitchen of the school, which was then sel- 
dom used, and at that time vacant. There she at- 
tired herself, some of her schoolmates assisting her. 
She happened to be nearly the height, and very- 
much of the figure of Maggie, and when entirely 
equipped, and with a thickly spotted black lace 
veil, was pronounced by herself, to be a good coun- 
terfeit resemblance of that lady. She was in excel- 
lent spirits, confident of success, and pleased with 
the nature of her enterprise ; while some of her 
schoolmates quailed with apprehension concerning 
the result, and would fain, if they could even then, 
have prevailed upon her to relinquish it. 

A few minutes only afterward she passed out 
the lower door of the school perfectly self-possessed, 
and with a firm step she went forth to fulfil her 
mischievous purpose. 

It is proper here, in order to be fully under- 
stood by the general reader, to mention, that the 
room in which Sister Mock then lived, was not 
only near the princi23al door of entrance of the In- 
stitution, but also in front of the building, which, 
being situated at the termination of the main street, 
commanded a view of the whole on either side ; 
an advantage to Katie in this affair, since it enabled 
her, by careful watching, to escape in time to pre- 
vent detection. Tlie distance between the two 
doors was so short, that it took her but a few mo- 



THE TRICK. Ill 

ments to reach the upper one, and Sister Mock's 
room, at which though open, she rapped. 

It was so early that the old ladies were not yet 
prepared for their visitors, and she only found 
Mammy Schlegel in the apartment, by whom she 
was kindly received and engaged in pleasant con- 
versation until Sister Mock came in, which occur- 
red only a little while afterwards. And as soon as 
she made her appearance, Katie, in imitation of 
yesterday, in raptures of delight, put her arms af- 
fectionately around her neck and cordially em- 
braced her. Then, ere Sister Mock could ask any 
questions, gravely informed her in a subdued tone, 
that her friend was quite sick, and unable to accept 
lier kind invitation ; nor would she have allowed 
her to leave her to make this visit, had not she her- 
self urged it — from the consideration of the mutual 
disappointment it would occasion — and, indeed, 
had insisted upon her coming, and desired her to 
present her compliments and regrets. 

" I am very sorry," said Sister Mock, believing 
that it was indeed her friend Maggie, " but I am 
glad that you have come ; so now take off your 
things, and let us talk again of old times." 

" You must excuse me, my dear Sister Mock, 
as I am very anxious about my friend. She is 
very nervous and low-spirited. I feel that I ought 
not to leave her long, but I thought I would come 
and sit awhile with you," was the reply of the pre- 
tended Maggie. 



112 Katie's nice tea. 

"Yet joii must stay and take tea ^vith me," 
said Sister Mock. 

" Thank you ; yon are very kind, and I should 
be exceedingly pleased to do so, but you know I am 
in such a hurry." 

" I am sorry for it, but I will get tea directly ; 
but you had better take off your things." 

"Well, I believe I will throw off my scarf; 
but as I did not expect to stay only a short time, I 
did not arrange my hair, and you know I was al- 
ways very particular that it should look nice, so 
pray excuse me if I keep my bonnet on." 

Yet Sister Mock could not recall to mind the 
fact of the neatness of tliis former pupil, nor did 
she care at all about it. She experienced, how- 
ever, some chagrin and annoyance at this hasty 
visit ; nor did she like her friend as well to-day as 
yesterday. Yet she had not the slightest suspicion 
of the imposition practised upon her, but continued 
to entertain the idea that it was indeed the veritable 
Maggie Slocum who sat before her ; one of the few 
scholars of the Institution who had ever expressed 
any particular warmth of aifection towards her. 

The old lady expressed herself exceedingly dis- 
appointed at the shortness of her proposed stay, but 
she bustled around to fix the table, and to put 
thereon all the good things she had provided. 
Then, what an excellent tea she made ; how truly 
agreeable she was ; and, what a nice, cosy hour, 
Katie and the old ladies had in discussing the past. 



THE SURPRISE. 113 

Besides, how Katie enjoyed that tea; and how she 
eat of the cake, fruit, &c., as if she had never tasted 
either before, at the same time praising ev^ery tiling, 
much to the gratification of Sister Mock, although 
the poor, simple soul was perfectly amazed at her 
extraordinary appetite. In truth, the voracious 
girl made quite a clearance of the best articles. 

Yet, notwithstanding thus engaged, she forgot 
not to keep a watch at the window, in order to pre- 
vent detection. For the better purpose of securing 
this object, Katie, at her own expressed desire, 
was so placed at the table, that she could see what- 
ever passed in the street, to be ready for the start 
when necessary. She still kept her veil down, 
although not entirely over her face, but she man- 
aged to arrange it so as to conceal the greater part 
of her features. 

Presently, she suddenly arose, saying, that as 
she had far exceeded the stipulated time of absence 
from her friend, she must hasten her departure, 
took cordial leave of the old ladies, and j ust made 
good her retreat, when there was another rap at 
tlie door, and Maggie, with her relative, stood be- 
fore the astonished, wonder-struck. Sister Mock. 

As will readily be supposed, the whole affair 
excited a great deal of talk in the school, and Sis- 
ter Mock became exceedingly wrathy upon the 
subject; and, in fact, her visitors had scarcely 
left her, ere she was busy in making interroga- 
tory investigations in reference thereto, for the pur- 



114 THE SUSPECTED. 

pose of discovering tlie perpetrator of this mis- 
chievous trick. She went among all the older 
pupils, and stopped in our room on this errand ; 
yet, altogether in vain, for though the aggressor was 
there, both of our teachers were entirely ignorant 
of the matter ; and not one of the scholars in the 
secret, would betray the confidence enforced upon 
them in the peculiar manner I have described. 

Yet, althougli without any certain evidence of 
the fact. Sister Mock, as usual, suspected Katie Sul- 
livan of being the guilty party — aye, indeed, she 
appeared to be thoroughly convinced that it was 
done by no other person, for the reason, as she con- 
fidently asserted, that no other scholar in the Insti- 
tution had sufficient impudence for such an under- 
taking, and enougli of Satan in her to carry it out 
successfully. 

Katie did not deny it, but appeared to give 
very little heed to the old lady, yet encountered 
her steady gaze as she talked upon the subject with 
so much indifference and imperturbability of man- 
ner, that a casual observer wonld scarcely have 
believed her to have been really the offender ; and 
the only reply she made to the oft-repeated charge 
of Sister Mock, that she had actually done it, was 
the usual provoking one of, " prove it, prove it, I 
say ; for, until you do this, I will not take any fur- 
ther notice of your accusation." On account of the 
inability of the old lady to comply with this requi- 
sition, she could do nothing more than complain ; 



INFLUENCE OF A CHARACTER. 115 

and the affair passed over as the other, without her 
having the satisfaction of seeing Katie Sullivan 
suffer even a reproof in consequence. 

From what I have here related of this w^ilj, 
artful, and designing girl, my readers can judge, in 
a measure, what sort of a disposition she had ; also, 
to form some idea of the immense influence a 
strong mind, determined and inflexible in purpose 
as hers was, though belonging to a child, can exer- 
cise upon her associates, even should there not ex- 
ist any tie of interest or affection between them. 

In truth, though now mingling more and more 
freely with her schoolmates, as yet she had but few 
friends among them, and still less to love her; but 
she was universally feared, and indeed, become the 
terror of the whole establishment. All were much 
afraid of her tricks ; of being victimized by her ; 
hence, were careful not to offend her. She was, 
therefore, treated kindly, yet generally w^ith re- 
spectful indifference ; while all seemed to keep 
aloof from her as much as possible. 

I say all : but I must qualify this assertion ; for 
there were a few exceptions — two of our teachers 
and several of the scholars. To some of these in- 
dividuals I alluded in a previous part of my stor}^, 
as befriending Katie, and all in return received tlie 
most grateful affection and devotion of heart from 
this undisciplined, reckless, don't care disposition. 
And in this circle alone was she believed to be ca- 
pable of any good whatever ; or of possessing even 



116 APPRECIATION. 

a single redeeming cpality of character. For, not- 
withstanding her numerous and glaring faults, they 
did not j udge her so harshly, but were disposed to 
regard her altogether with more charitable feelings : 
in fact, they sincerely pitied her, and their compas- 
sionate interest being excited in her behalf, ren- 
dered it easier on their part to put as favorable a 
construction as possible on her conduct. 

Besides, they considered the disadvantageous 
circumstances under which poor Katie had prob- 
ably labored while at home, which, of course, had 
had a tendency to engender much rancorous ani- 
mosity, with a host of other hateful propensities, 
and to choke up whatever virtues she possessed. 
These real friends of Katie, — I am speaking now 
more particularly of the teachers I mentioned, — in- 
dulged the hope, that by gentleness and kindness, 
with judicious discipline, they would ultimately 
win a way to her heart, and the result would be 
a complete reformation of character. They were 
encouraged in this hope, because she had already 
proved that her heart was not impervious to kind- 
ness ; for where it had been bestowed upon her, 
she had shown her appreciation of it ; and on closer 
observation, they had the discernment to discover 
the glimmerings of a better nature within : — that 
under this unprepossessing and unamiable exterior, 
far below the present currents of her acts and do- 
ings, — her rash impulses — her implacable, passion- 
ate, and subtle nature, was another, though scarcely 



IMPKOVKMENT. 117 



developed, and almost in a dormant condition, 
which contained some of the most noble and lovely 
traits of onr humanity. They hailed these evi- 
dences with pleasure, and while it increased their 
interest in the unfortunate girl, they resolved to 
make it their constant endeavor to foster these vir- 
tues into lively exercise for her own especial benefit. 
From this period they redoubled their efforts in her 
behalf — noticed her more and more — smiled ap- 
provingly at her conduct whenever they could, and 
commended her for it. Thus their influence upon 
Katie was established ; and properly bestowed, it 
ultimately proved very beneficial in moulding anew 
her character, and they were soon, although almost 
imperceptibly, doing this. 

But the progress in this desirable change was 
indeed very slow, because of the material of mind 
to be acted upon, and the numerous evil tendencies 
so rooted therein, as to render it difiicult to make 
any permanent good impression. 

And Katie at first received their overtures of 
kindness with distrust, suspicion, and wonder: — 
then she considered their motives — surely they 
could not have any but a purely disinterested one — 
they must be her friends who thus faithfully labored 
for her welfare ; and because they manifested this 
interest for her, the despised, neglected, isolated 
being for whom nobody had hitherto cared or even 
spoken kindly to, she was convinced of the fact ; or 
why were they so gentle and amiable to her, so pa- 



118 EFFECT OF KINDNESS. 

tient with her wilfuhiess, so mild in reproof, so for- 
bearing with her temper and many fanhs ? 

Thns reasoned Katie ; and it was pleasant for her 
to be thus regarded — to be able at length to believe 
that she could be of some estimation with her fellow- 
creatures. All these circumstances combined, had 
the effect gradually of softening her obduracy — 
conquering her strong determined will— subduing 
her proud rebellious nature — giving her self-respect, 
and making her altogether ashamed of her general 
conduct, and resolved in every respect to amend it. 

I have said that Katie had some inherent excel- 
lent traits of character, and that her teachers had 
discovered them. As these were cultivated, and 
became more and more apparent to her compan- 
ions, the result w^as, that the prejudices against her 
lessened^ and she gained other friends, and presently 
found herself quite popular in the school. 

Yet Sister Mock and she continued hostile to 
each other — though Katie now endeavored to give 
the old lady no further occasion for her ill w411. 
The old leaven of bitter animosity towards her, how- 
ever, remained still in her heai't — she had not as yet 
been able to conquer it ; but there was a constant 
effort on her part to keep it under control ; yet she 
could not always command her temper when ne- 
cessary, or adhere to her resolution of not again re- 
taliating upon her. 

And the old lady continued to say provoking 
things, though, perhaps, not as frequently as for- 



PROPOSED AMUSEMENT. 119 

merly ; but I remember only one instance after- 
wards when Katie allowed herself to become so in- 
censed against her, as to take vengeance in conse- 
quence upon her. It occurred, I should judge, at 
least about six months after the trick I have nar- 
rated. But she had been much aggravated, and the 
circumstances, as near as I can recollect, were the 
following. 

To relieve the monotony of the long winter even- 
ings, among other innocent amusements, to afford 
the scholars a pleasurable excitement, it was cus- 
tomary, occasionally during the season, in one or 
more of the subdivisions of the school, to have a 
dramatic representation. These were got up in the 
different rooms by our respective teachers, who 
selected the pieces to be performed, chose the 
actors, assigned each their part, and made all the 
other necessary arrangements, together with giving 
us the proper instruction. 

It was all simply arranged, and usually occa- 
sioned considerable enjoyment. Thus we jDerform- 
ed Hannah More's Sacred Dramas, " Search after 
Happiness," and " Moses in the Bulrushes ; " be- 
sides an interesting little piece called the " Shep- 
herdess," and two others of the names of the " In- 
quisitive Girl," and the "West Indian." These 
latter were translated from the French, by Sister 
Hartley, an English teacher — and in addition, one 
or more I believe of Madame De Genlis — all con- 



120 THE EXHIBITION. 

taining notliing but female characters, and altogether 
quite unobjectionable. 

And then, what a time we had at our rehearsals 
— and how often it was repeated, in order to perfect 
us in our respective parts ; and when the eagerly 
anticipated evening for the performance at length 
arrived, how desirous were we all to don our char- 
acter dresses, and how excited until the whole af- 
fair was over. 

These Exhibitions w^ere generally held in the 
chapel of the school, near the farther end of which 
was the theatre of performance. This we concealed 
from view by a thick muslin curtain. The audi- 
ence, who occupied all the rest of the space in the 
room, were mostly composed of other teachers and 
scholars — our Principal and his lady — other clergy- 
men with their wives — any known respectable 
visitors who might be at the time sojourning at 
Bethlehem, and perhaps a few of the regular inhabit- 
ants of the town. 

Our dressing-room, on these occasions, was in 
the rear, and belonged to the sick-room depart- 
ment of the school ; while the orchestra, if w^e had 
any, was either in the pulpit of the chapel or with- 
in the curtains. 

At the given moment, the curtains were drawn 
aside, when the performances commenced with a 
Prologue ; next followed the Drama, wdiile the 
whole closed with an Epilogue. 

At one of these entertainments by the pupils of 



121 

the division to wliicli I belonged, I think it was tJie 
"Inquisitive Girl," Katie Sullivan had the part of a 
servant girl given to her, wlio was a very important 
and prominent personage in the piece, and requir- 
ed considerable talent to personate well. Katie took 
this character with great reluctance, and only be- 
cause her favorite teacher, Sister Hartley, requested 
it, who gave it to her for the reason, that from her 
talents of mimicry, she certainly was most compe- 
tent for the undertaking. 'Nor did she make a 
mistake — Katie's performance was admirable — and 
she received many compliments in consequence, 
which evidently much gratified her. Indeed, to 
my thinking, Katie altogether appeared to greater 
advantage that evening, than ever before ; which 
circumstance caused more than one person present 
to comment favorably upon her altered disposition, 
and general demeanor. 

She was still the subject of their encouraging 
observations, when unfortunately she heard the 
whispered remark, that no wonder she could act so 
well, it was her real character, and representing her 
own natural position ; or words of similar meaning. 
Katie immediately recognized Sister Mock as the 
person who thus spoke. Ah ! where now was her look 
of pleasure, the sunbeams of happiness which had 
illumined her countenance, and seemed to dance on 
her future j^athway of life ? They were gone — in 
an instant they had vanished — and instead, over 
her dark face for a moment flitted the shadow of 
6 



122 THE INSULT. 

the demon, who was w^hispering in her ear, to be 
revenged ; nor did she heed the pleadings of her 
better nature, in angel accents, entreating her to 
forbear from her purposed wrath. 

In truth, the old lady had so w^ounded the feel- 
ings of the proud and sensitive girl, that it aroused 
all the bad passions which she was so earnestly 
striving to subdue. Yet, as w^as her wont, for a 
space she said nothing ; but the flashing of her 
black eyes, her look of deflant scorn, her trembling 
frame, her pallid countenance, told of the fearful 
contest within. One thought alone now possessed 
her — the gross insult she had received — next, how 
she should revenge herself, so as to prevent the re- 
currence of the outrage in the future, for this seemed 
to be the main object of retaliation. Then tliere 
arose a tumult of her feelings, a struggling between 
the good and bad in her nature, and she hesitated a 
brief space in her purpose ; for as Katie was not as 
implacable as formerly in her resentments, she 
probably had some qualms of conscience to contend 
with ; but when she thought how her feelings had 
been outraged — of the sufferings occasioned her by 
the stinging remark of the old lady — and how ill she 
had always used her, she stifled the suggestions of 
her faithful monitor; her scruples vanished, while 
it nerved her wavering resolution, and settled her 
in the course she designed to pursue. 

Her teachers, with some of her schoolmates, 
endeavored to soothe her, but in vain. It seemed 



CONSKQUENCE. 123 

that her feelings could not be appeased, until her 
vengeance had been wreaked upon the thoughtless 
okl lady ; nor did she pause to reflect on what she 
intended doing, but, under the influence of her 
strong passions, determined to accomplish her ob- 
ject as soon as possible. What she did, will now 
briefly be told. 

I have mentioned that the room Sister Mock 
and her sister lived in, was on the lower floor of the 
school; besides situated directly opposite to the 
smaller dining-room ; and the large bell of the In- 
stitution, with, a long rope attached to it, was im- 
mediately outside this eating apartment. It was 
suspended in a hall which led to the back-door, 
beyond which, a piazza extended across the whole 
of the rear of the main building of the school, ter- 
minating at each end with a flight of steps com- 
municating at both places, with wdiat may be called 
the rear wings of the establishment. 

It is necessary here in my narration, to give 
some idea of these localities ; next to say, that our 
teachers did not sup with us, but had that meal 
subsequent to ours by themselves ; also, to say, that 
they were privileged to take Avhatever they chose 
from our table. I cannot, however, recollect dur- 
ing the whole time I was there, any availing them- 
selves of this right, but Sister Mock, and she inva- 
riably did so. She usually made her selection di- 
rectly after our supper-bell rang, in the interval 
wheir the scholars of the diflferent rooms were 



12tt THE KEVENGE. 

being arranged according to rule for the occa- 
sion. 

I forgot to state that, besides the hall, there was 
another passage-way that passed both of the dining- 
rooms, and parallel with the piazza, at both ends 
of which hung a lantern, while another was near 
the bell. 

One evening, very soon after the " entertain- 
ment " just spoken of, a few minutes before our 
supper-time, Katie Sullivan passed hastily through 
these halls into the piazza, then down the nearer 
flight of steps, nor stopped until she reached the 
woodhouse of the school, where she gathered an 
armfull ; then rapidly yet very quietly, she retraced 
her way, until she stood before the door of Sister 
Mock's room and the dining-room, where she very 
softly placed it ; then put out the near lights, and 
immediately afterwards rang the bell. 

As Katie expected, directly thereupon, Sister 
Mock made her appearance with pitcher and plate 
in hand, and almost immediately after, a fall, fol- 
lowed by a scream, and a groan or two, were suc- 
cessively heard ; then she was quiet. 'No sooner 
had this occurred, than Katie became not only 
excessively frightened at what she had done, but 
conscience-struck at her conduct, and full of re- 
morse in consequence. Yet she stayed not a mo- 
ment where she was, for, hearing doors opening 
and steps approaching, she fled with the greatest 
precipitation and dismay, rushed along the piazza, 



KEMOESE. 125 

next down the steps, to conceal herself among some 
of the outbnildhigs. 

Here Katie stopped, and with a mind painfully 
agitated, endeavored to reflect npon what had oc- 
curred ; and how she was implicated in it ; the 
wicked act she had committed, with the possible 
consequences, both to herself and the old lady. 
She could not reason calmly npon the subject; 
one thought alone occupied her mind, which al- 
•/nost overwhelmed her with anxious apprehension 
and distress. It was the idea that, perhaps, she 
had killed her, and, by the indulgence of her re- 
vengeful spirit, done this dreadful thing. The 
impression of such a fearful reality, terribly ago- 
nized her ; for she certainly had no intention of 
doing her any serious harm whatever; though, 
perhaps, the real truth was, that she had not any 
definite notion of the extent of the injury she wish- 
ed to inflict upon the old lady. Katie herself said, 
that she only w^anted to hurt her a little, and to 
frighten her more ; to make her cease from annoy- 
ing her. But, led on by her passions, it is more 
than probable, that, for the moment, she became 
reckless of the consequences which might ensue. 
Yet now when the cravings of her evil spirit were 
satisfied, she was truly unhappy and contrite. J^or 
did she excuse her conduct at all, but felt perfectly 
condemned and sorry for it. And then what scald- 
ing tears of penitence poured down her cheeks, 
marking the entire subjugation of the demon in her 
nature. 



126 PENITENCE. 

And poor Katie was truly, thoroughly subdued, 
as she knelt in her hiding- j)l ace and prayed to that 
God who seeth in secret, for strength and grace to 
enable her now and for ever to cease from indulg- 
ing rancorous animosity, or any revengeful feelings 
whatever, not only towards Sister Mock, but also 
to every other human being. But the poor girl 
was restless and uneasy, dreading, yet anxious to 
return to the scene of her folly and the sad catas- 
trophe ; nevertheless, determined upon the purpose 
she had formed, not only to acknowledge herself 
the ofiender, but to make all the atonement in her 
powder to the old lady ; and if she could listen to 
her, she would freely tell her all, and humble her- 
self before her ; and, with these feelings, she went 
forth, yet trembling with fearful anticipations, to 
seek her. 

She found her worst fears groundless. Sister 
Mock, though severely, was not seriously hurt. If 
I recollect right she had broken one of her limbs — 
or, if not fractured, she dislocated it, and was just 
recovering from a fainting fit when Katie returned. 

'' I really wonder if Katie Sullivan did this," 
was being said by one of the gathered group around 
the old lady, at the moment when Katie came in 
their midst. 

She looked very pale and excited, while her 
swollen eyes betrayed that she had been Aveeping. 

" Yes, it was I," she replied. " I only am 
guilty of this act. I freely acknowledge it ; I did 



CONFESSION. 127 

it because I was very angry ; but I am very sorry 
now, and hope that she is not much hurt." 

" Hurt ! " exclaimed Sister Mock ; " why, I am 
ahnost killed, wliich, I suppose, you will be right 
glad to hear, although you look so pitiful about it, 
and pretend to be very sorry — you hypocrite — you 
savage — you Hottentot — " 

Katie turned deadly pale ; then a bright spot 
appeared on either cheek, Avhile her lips quivered 
and her whole frame seemed inwardly convulsed, — 
yet not now with rage, but with the effort to keep 
it down, and to follow out her noble resolve. Yet 
she could not directly command words, but per- 
ceiving preparations making for conveying Sister 
Mock to the sick-room, she made a desperate at- 
tempt, and then said : 

" Yes, I did it — and believe it or not, I had no 
wish to hurt you much. You made me do it, be- 
cause you are continually persecuting me, and call- 
ing me names ; but I am indeed very sorry for it, 
and beg you to forgive me ; and more than all, as a 
proof that I mean what I say, I here solemnly 
promise you that this is my last revenge upon you 
— and whether you call me a Hottentot, savage, Es- 
quimaux, or any other reproachful or contemptuous 
epithet, I will never retaliate upon you again," — 
saying which, poor Katie burst into a flood of tears. 

All present were surprised, and many were 
affected ; and even Sister Mock was moved, yet she 
did not immediately make any reply. 



128 FORGIVENESS. 

" And is it possible, Sullivan," she at length 
said, " that I hear you speak so, and that you have 
so much grace given you ? " — then, after pausing a 
moment, she stretched out her hand to Katie and 
continued, — " Remember, we are all poor sinners, 
my child, and perhajjs I have been to blame in this 
matter ; if so, I must try to do better in the future, 
and I freely forgive you." Then putting up her lips 
she drew the astonished girl close to her, and im- 
printed upon hers a long and affectionate kiss as a 
seal to her forgiveness. And from this time forth, 
there was peace between Sister Mock and Katie 
Sullivan. 

I know not how long after this occurrence the 
latter remained in the school, but it must have been 
rather more than six months, during which interval 
she played no more tricks on any one ; and from 
the date of the circumstances just given, she man- 
aged to gain many more friends among her school- 
mates and superiors. Yet there was one of the 
scholars, a girl whom she dearly loved, who for 
some reason never explained at school, suddenly 
ceased speaking to, or even noticing poor Katie. 
This grieved her deepl}^, but she did not re- 
sent it. 

In the meanwhile her parents continued to fur- 
nish her so scantily with clothing and other neces- 
saries, that she was glad to receive the cast-off 
garments of her companions, and their old books, 
&c., &c. And she was grateful for being thus sup- 



GOOD QUALITIES. 129 

plied, while lier manner was such as to forbid any 
unpleasant remarks in consequence. 

It was during the period of which I am now 
writing that I became dangerously ill, when not 
any of my schoolmates were so kind, and attentive 
as Katie Sullivan. I had early obtained her affec- 
tionate regard by showing her various little acts .of 
kindness, which, although they did not altogether 
amount to much, were highly estimated by the 
needy and friendless girl ; in consequence, when- 
ever opportunity offered, she took pleasure in mani- 
festing her grateful feelings ; — and now, when I re- 
quired attention, as often as she was allowed, she 
came and stayed with me in the sick room, minis- 
tering as well as she possibly could or knew how, to 
my comforts and necessities ; — at one time coaxing 
some good thing for me from the irritable Sister 
Katy, our sick nurse, or bathing my fevered aching 
brow ; and while I write, busy memory brings all 
this before me — Katie Sullivan as the tender nurse 
— the gentle, sympathizing companion — the faithful 
and devoted friend. No marvel therefore that I 
loved her, nor my interest in her was strong and 
enduring, and that I would ghadly trace out her sub- 
sequent history from some certain unquestionable 
authority. 

But I have never met with her since we parted 

at Bethlehem, and have heard only once of her 

during that period, and then quite a tale was given 

me ; but it is altogether so very extraordinary that 

6* 



130 THE RUNAWAYS. 

I have always been inclined to doubt the truth of 
it. Yet be that as it may, as it is interesting, I 
sketch it briefly for my readers. 

I was told that just before, or soon after Katie 
returned home, her father died, and that she and 
her brother thereupon found themselves entirely at 
the mercy of their stepmother, who put Katie into 
the kitchen, and made her the household drudge, 
while she sent her brother Lemuel into the fields as 
her working slave. In addition she treated them 
both very cruelly — aye, so much so, that at length 
they mutually agreed no longer to subject them- 
selves to it, but leave her, to seek an as^dum among 
strangers. Yet where to go they knew not, or the 
best course to take to secure their object. But the 
wide world was before them where to choose, and 
Katie with her strong determined will, as soon as 
she had made up her mind upon the subject, would 
sufier no earthly thought or consideration to deter 
her from it ; — no, although thereby she was aban- 
doning the property rightfully their own, their just 
inheritance, the home provided by her father for 
his orphan children. 

I know not how long this occurred after Katie's 
return from Bethlehem, but it could not have been 
many years ; and my impression is that she must 
still have been under age. The brother and sister 
did not go together ; Katie went first. Lemuel was 
despatched after her ; he never returned. I did 
not learn whether he joined his sister, but I should 



131 

judge not, since Katie was alone in the wanderings 
which succeeded her departure. I heard that she 
fled to the woods, passed at least one night there, 
where her life, I heard, was endangered by a pan- 
ther ; she escaped from its clutches as by a mira- 
cle, had some other equally as incredible adven- 
tures ; then after several days' travel, she at length 
found herself before the door of a comfortable-look- 
ing farm-house, where she asked permission to re- 
main for the coming night, which was granted. 

This house proved to be the residence of an old 
lady, who had formerly been a friend of her family, 
and indeed was Katie's godmother. She found her 
almost alone and sick, nearly bedridden with the in- 
flammatory rheumatism. She gave Katie a very 
kindly welcome, and when she ascertained who she 
was, expressed herself glad at her coming ; invited 
Katie to stay, and presently pressed her to remain 
permanently with her, which ofier Katie gratefully, 
gladly accepted. 

Hereupon she devoted herself to the old lady, 
humored her various whims and caprices, and pa- 
tiently bore all her irritability and peevishness, 
which her aged friend properly appreciated. She 
was childless, had no relations, and was quite 
wealthy. "Whether Katie was aware of all these 
facts I have not been informed, but she made her- 
self so necessary to her godmother, that she could 
not do without her. 

Presently the invalid required constant atten- 



132 THE LEGACY. 

tion ; Katie bestowed it, and was unwearied in her 
devotion. The old lady not only realized this, but 
often acknowledged it ; and one day, after having 
taxed her patience and forbearance more than 
usual, she said : " God Almighty bless and reward 
you, my good girl, for what you are doing to me ; " 
and then she promised Katie, if she remained with 
her and closed her e3^es, she would bequeath her 
all her property ; which Katie did, and soon after 
she had a paper executed to that effect. 

The old lady did not long survive this instrument. 
At her death, Katie found herself quite an heiress ; 
for besides the residence of her godmother, she 
came in possession of some valuable property. Her 
first desire was to share it with her brother — but 
my informant could not tell me whether she liad 
succeeded in finding him. 

The next occurrence I heard concerning her was, 
that after a space she had sold the homestead of 
her godmother, and about removing from thence, 
when she met with a distressed looking old woman, 
who was famishing, she said, from hunger, and so 
weary with fatigue, that she could not proceed any 
farther, and begged Katie for God's sake, to give 
her some food, and a place of shelter. 

Katie, who had realized the painful situation of 
wanting both, and whose wealth instead of harden- 
ing her heart against the necessitous, had made her 
benevolent and kind, caused the houseless and des- 
titute stranger to be taken into her dwelling and 



RETRIBUTION. 133 

provided with food and raiment ; besides, witli a 
comfortable apartment. And not content with this 
hospitality, she -went herself to see whether her 
orders had been properly executed. As she looked 
at the forlorn, miserable mendicant, she directly 
recognized her to be no other than her stepmother. 
I know not by what calamity or misfortune she be- 
came reduced to this abject condition; but as the 
story goes, she had been cheated out of her property, 
and then driven forth from it. And if such really 
was the case, it is an instance of retributive justice 
as remarkable as it is striking. 

My informant further stated, that instead of 
showing any resentment towards her, for her harsh 
conduct to herself, Katie treated her well, and had 
her kindly cared for ; but the old woman did not 
long require her kindness, for she shortly died. 

The last event of interest in relation to Katie 
which my informant gave me is, that hearing the 
schoolmate with whom she had had an irreconcil- 
able difference at Bethlehem, was become so poor 
as to render it necessary to support herself ; she re* 
solved to visit her, in order to try to be of service 
to lier. She found her friend had married within 
a year after her return from school, and to an old 
man of between sixty and seventy years of age ; a 
discarded beau of an aunt of hers. He was then 
wealthy, but had since lost all his property, which 
had compelled his young wife, still in her teens, to 



134: RE-UNION. 

turn lier musical abilities to account, and to give 
lessons in music and singing. 

The meeting between Katie and this friend of 
her childhood, was preceded bj an affectionate 
note from her, wdiicli produced an immediate reply, 
and the long estranged friends soon after had a 
cordial re-union ; old differences were forgotten, 
and directly the severed bond was re-knit in closer 
intimacy ; but whether Eliza accepted the j)roffered 
generous kindness of Katie, of sharing her purse 
and her home, my informant did not tell me. I 
am, therefore, not prepared to state any thing upon 
the subject. And thus I close this to me apocry- 
phal account of my former schoolmate at Bethle- 
hem, who appears here under the name of Katie 
Sullivan. 



SISTEK MAKIA. 

Among the teachers of Bethlehem School when 
I first became a pupil in that Institution, was Sis- 
ter Maria Beaumont. Under this cognomen she 
was known there, though not the real name of her 
father. She died within a year or two after. Her 
whole history as I have heard it, being truly a sad 
one, and attended with very unhappy consequences 
to herself, and her death singularly melancholy, the 
entire circumstances of the case fastened themselves 
the stronger upon my childish mind ; and from the 
repository of the recollections of this portion of my 
life, I have gathered out this sketch of her history. 

She was the daughter of an English gentleman, 
a West India planter, and a favorite black slave, by 
whom he had besides several other children. All 
inherited, I have been told, more or less the sable 
skin of their mother, save this daughter, who, though 
not of fair complexion, was as white as a large por- 
tion of the European race — indeed considerably 
lighter than a Brunette ; yet her features generally 



136 THE BLACK AND WHITE SISTERS. 

betrayed her African origin, while her hair was 
rather coarse and very curly. 

When Maria was about nine years of age, she 
and her only sister Betsey were brought to Bethle- 
hem by their paternal grandmother for the purpose' 
of being educated, the Moravians at that period re- 
ceiving such children among them in their schools ; 
and thus quite a number of Indians, some Creoles, 
Meztistoes, Quadroons, with other mixtures, were 
admitted into their Seminaries of learning. The 
object of the Society in allowing this arrangement, 
was from purely Christian motives originating from 
their missionary undertakings, which, in making 
them acquainted with the spiritual wants of their 
fellow-beings, brought with it the desire in like 
manner of ameliorating their moral condition, of 
fitting them for a life of usefulness on earth, as well 
as preparing* them for a blessed eternity. Hence, 
unless a cogent reason existed to prevent it, such 
applications were not refused. Here they were 
very kindly treated, and every pains bestowed upon 
the culture of their minds. 

The contrast in the appearance of Betsey and 
Maria Beaumont was great; the former being as 
black, as her sister was fair. In fact, if I have been 
correctly informed, she gave the impression of her 
belonging to tlie African race, possessing with her 
skin much of the character of that people. If I 
remember right, she cared neither for study nor 
books ; — was rather stupid ; while her sister was 



THE DIFFERENCE. 137 

bright and intelligent, eager to learn, and really 
appreciated the advantages offered of acquiring a 
good education. The former never seemed to have 
any painful feelings because of lier color, neither 
did she appear to look into the future of her destiny 
with any unpleasant forebodings. 

Maria, on the contrary, was exceedingly sensi- 
tive upon the subject, and even from her first com- 
ing suffered considerably from the knowledge 
of her being the child of a bondwoman ; and that, 
although much fairer than her sister, the same ig- 
noble blood coursed alike through the veins of 
both. It was a marvel too that she felt it so keenly, 
since allusions were seldom made in her hearing in 
reference to this misfortune, and she was ever treated 
with considerate kindness. I know nothing of the 
disposition of Betsey, nor whether she was fond of 
her sister ; but I have been informed, that the prom- 
inent feelings of Maria for her, were a mixture of 
pity and tenderness; and frequently she would 
twine her arms about her, and while affectionately 
caressing her shed torrents of bitter agonizing tears. 

The sisters continued together at Bethlehem 
School, I believe, for the space of nearly five years. 
At this time, Maria, the eldest, was fourteen ; and 
Betsey just arrived at the age of twelve. Fi'om 
this date their education was to be considered com- 
pleted, and they were to be no longer any expense 
to their friends. But Betsey still continued sadly 
deficient, though for the fate awaiting her, the mind 



138 THE SEPARATION. 

of this poor unfortunate, probably, was more im- 
proved than necessary ; and she had certainly been 
entirely too carefully nurtured. 

Maria, however, so benefited by her opportuni- 
ties, that she had become quite a good scholar, but 
particularly excelled in music. In truth, she was 
a superior performer, and possessed a remarkably 
fine voice. Indeed her vocal powers were per- 
fectly charming. 

The old grandmother came for the girls, accom- 
panied by a gentleman empowered with the right 
of settling the future condition of the sisters. They 
were subjected to the scrutiny and strict examination 
of both these individuals ; then a consultation was 
held upon the subject with some of the good peo- 
ple of the place, who were considered competent 
for the purpose, after which it became settled that 
Maria was to remain in the settlement, tliere to sup- 
port herself, and Betsey to return to their native 
home in the West Indies. 

Almost directly after this decision, the sisters 
separated; never more to meet again upon this 
side of eternity. Maria on this occasion wept bit- 
terly. Added to the pang of thus parting with Bet- 
sey, she had an undefined anxiety concerning her. 
Perhaps the fearful shadow of her sister's future 
fate even then flitted before her. Maria now be- 
came an inmate of the Sisters' House, where meas- 
ures were immediately taken to put her in the way 
of earning her own livelihood. She was employed 



A PAINFUL RUMOR. 139 

in various ways, in tlie mean time improving her 
musical talents. She conducted herself very well 
— proved very diligent and amiable, but so sensi- 
tive regarding herself, so humble and retiring, as to 
prevent much association with her companions; 
yet she was generally respected, while her situation 
excited much sympathy. 

The history of Betsey after she left Bethlehem 
was for a period involved in uncertainty. No one 
had really become acquainted with her sad fate, 
though a painful tale reached the settlement six 
months subsequent to her departure from thence, 
and been heard by her wretched sister, that the un- 
fortunate girl was scarcely returned to her native 
sea-girt isle, ere she became aware of her real con- 
dition, of her being a slave ; also that the fetters of 
bondage were thrown around her, and her own fa- 
ther riveted the chains. He had himself sold her. 

This story was deemed too horribly unnatural 
to be true, and poor Maria, told not to believe it. 
Nor did she ; but she cheated herself with the vain 
hope that presently Betsey herself would write a 
complete contradiction of it. Yet, while still in- 
dulging this pleasing anticipation, a missionary 
couple arrived at Bethlehem from one of the neigh- 
boring islands where her father lived, who not only 
confirmed this dreadful rumor, but in addition, 
stated that her mother and brothers were also thus 
disposed of, and to different purchasers. 

This arrangement was made in consequence of 



140 SAD FACTS. 

lier father's marriage, wliicli had taken place in 
England a short time previons to this occurrence, 
the excuse being, that the sale was deemed expe- 
dient to prevent unpleasant feelings on the part of 
his bride. These facts were gently told to the dis- 
tressed Maria, and when she learnt that her father 
had indeed thus trafficked with his own flesh and 
blood, and with the mother of his children, had re- 
duced them all to this abject and pitiable condition, 
she became almost broken-hearted, and a long space 
elapsed after this, ere Maria Beaumont either raised 
her eyes or smiled ; and from that period, I believe, 
she ever carried an aching heart. 

Time passed on, bringing with it its wondrous 
changes, and it did so to this unfortunate and grief- 
stricken one. She had been about three years in 
the Sisters' House, when she casually heard of the 
death of her father. It was passing strange how 
she obtained this information. She learnt the fact 
from a piece of newspaper, the wrapping round an 
orange, received by one of the West India school 
girls, accidentally thrown on the floor beside her. 

A few months after this, she heard quite as sin- 
gularly of the death of her mother, but it had oc- 
curred more than two years 2:)revious, and was 
brought about by her changed condition, from be- 
ing the pampered favorite of her father, to becom- 
ing a common working slave ; besides being sepa- 
rated entirely from all her children, and having no 
domestic ties about her to interest her. She was 



THE slave-mother's DEATH. 141 

rendered miserably unhappy in consequence, and 
did not long survive ; and from a slave of an ad- 
joining plantation, who came with the family to 
whom she belonged, on a visit to Bethlehem, her 
poor daugliter obtained these sad particulars of the 
closing part of her life. 

The health of Maria Beaumont, at this period, 
was very delicate. Besides this, she indulged in a 
very unhappy state of mind. She had brooded 
over the suiferings and trials of her unfortunate 
family ; in imagination had frequently viewed them 
in their captivity ; seen the sorrows and hardships of 
their enslaved condition ; witnessed their degradation 
and hopeless misery, until she had become perfectly 
melancholy and wretched ; while ever and anon, 
the painful thoughti%ould obtrude itself upon her, 
that, although favored with the complexion of free- 
dom, as the offspring of bondage, of a poor negro 
woman, she was in truth, subject to the same gal- 
ling chains w^iich encircled her, and that in reality, 
she was nothing but a slave. This preyed like a 
canker-worm upon her spirits, and seemed to be 
sapping the very life-blood of her existence. 

Afterwards, when the account of her poor 
mother's death reached her, and she heard all the 
sad circumstances of the case, it appeared as if the 
cup of her misery became too full for her any lon- 
ger to survive. At this period, she was really so 
feeble, as to require the greatest effort on her part, 
to attend to her usual occupations. In truth, the 



142 Maria's agony. 

sad tidings dreadfully shocked her ; she screamed 
terrifically in her agony, until reason tottered ; she 
raved in delirium, and became perfectly frantic. 
Then, by turns, she earnestly begged to die ; en- 
treated those about her to kill her ; or fancied that 
she was about to be sold, her own father being the 
salesman ; next, she was pleading for her poor 
mother, her sister, or her brothers, imploring kind- 
ness for them ; and by and by she imagined she 
saw one or another of these unfortunate kindred of 
hers under the lash ; that they were sick or suffer- 
ing, destitute of comforts or attentions ; were part- 
ing with each other, and wandering aAvay to differ- 
ent plantations ; then saw her mother die, all alone, 
without a single friend near to smooth her dying 
pillow ; afterwards, she suddemy came ujDon poor 
Betsey, so fearfully altered she could scarcely re- 
cognize her, and was just about embracing her, 
when her overseer approached, said something very 
insulting to the poor girl, t]ien cruelly separated them. 
Hereupon she wept bitterly, raved terribly 
upon slavery, and then, for a space, became silent 
from perfect exhaustion. She remained quiet for 
some time. Presently she opened her eyes ; they 
rested upon the doctor whom she observed with 
watch in hand, attentively regarding her. At this 
moment, he took hold of her wrist to feel her pulse. 
It so happened that to his watch was attached a 
rather massive steel chain, which he wore around 
his neck. 



RAVINGS. 143 

This immediately attracted tlie attention of 
Maria, and agitated lier greatly ; for it somehow 
became associated in her mind with slavery ; for, 
as soon as she noticed it, she shrieked violently, 
then shrnnk as far as she could in the bed from the 
doctor, looked at him imploringly, earnestly en- 
treating him not to take her away and make a slave 
of her, for she was a white girl ; then inquired how 
he knew she had a black mother, and in slavery ; 
but that she was free, and neither could be bought 
or sold. 

Upon this, the doctor, with several sisters who 
were present, all endeavored to calm her. They 
told her she had nothing to fear ; therefore, should 
not be so alarmed. 

*'But the chain, I see it; yes, I see it; the 
chain with which he is going to bind me ! But 
don't — please don't put it around me ! " 

" It is only the chain of my watch," replied the 
doctor ; " see, Maria, it is fastened to it," j^lacing 
them both, as he spoke, near her. 

" Take it away ! " she exclaimed with increased 
agitation, " take it away, I say ; I cannot bear it 
near me. Oh, do not fasten it on me ! Yes, kill 
poor Maria Beaumont, rather than make her a 
slave ! " 

And thus she continued to rave frequently for a 
considerable space of time. But by and by the 
fearful imaginings subsided, she became more calm, 
though not as yet rational, except at intervals ; then 



144 SYMPATHY. 

some feared that her mind would ultimately settle 
in a permanent melancholy. The doctor ])rescribed 
quiet, and she was left much alone. But this pro- 
cedure would not answer, for it made her indulge 
in the fancy, that no one cared for her, because of 
the black stain upon her birth ; the indelible mark 
stam^jed upon the very lineaments of her face which 
showed her ignoble origin. 

There were those who, at this time, gathered 
about the couch of the sufferer to minister to her 
relief, and manifest a tender hiterest in lier belialf. 
The man of God, together with some of tlie sister- 
hood. All these breathed forth kind words, while 
tiiey showed their Christian pity, and genuine phi- 
lanthropy. 

Yet, although these attentions were felt and 
gratefully acknowledged by the unfortunate girl, 
her feelings could not be soothed into calmness ; 
nor did she give heed fully to what they said until 
assured over and over again, that she miglit always 
remain where she was ; and, if her father's kindred 
came to claim her, the Society in Bethlehem would 
not let them have her. 

I believe these good people had an opportunity 
almost directly after her illness, of entirely, and in 
the most effective manner, relieving her mind upon 
this painful subject. I know not to a certainty 
exactly how they accomplished it, but I am under 
the impression that, at this very time, the store- 
keeper of Bethlehem went to Philadelphia to pur- 



THE PKOMISE. 145 

cliase a fresli supply of goods ; that lie was com- 
missioned to seek lier grandmother, and if he suc- 
ceeded in finding the old lady, to inform her of the 
lamentable condition of this child of her son's ; to 
confer with her in consequence, and endeavor to 
obtain some guarantee from her, that poor Maria 
should be permanently safe in the asylum w^here 
she herself had placed her. 

He fortunately obtained her address, and with- 
out any difficulty whatever, gained access to the 
old lady, who very willingly furnished him with 
the paper he solicited, which he bore to Maria in 
the form of a letter. It contained a written promise 
on her part in the name of all her father's relatives, 
that she would never be sought by any of them for 
the purpose of removing her from her present 
home. Her grandmother wrote very kindly, gave 
Maria the advice to remain satisfied where she was ; 
to make herself as happy and useful as possible ; 
hoped that she would do well ; regretted that she 
had been so very ill, and sent her a small enclosure 
to pay for the extra expenses of her illness. 

As I really do not know, I am unprepared to 
say, whether at this period Maria Beaumont was a 
professing member of the Church. Yet, be that as 
it may, the circumstances attending her illness ; 
the deplorable state of her mind in consequence, 
together with the condition of her peculiar situa- 
tion, were all doubtless made subjects by her spir- 
itual instructors, to impress upon her Iieart the 
7 



14:6 SENSITIVENESS. 

necessity of looking to a higher source than her 
fellow-creatures, for the enjoyments of her temporal 
existence ; the wisdom of seeking a better portion 
for herself than earth can atford ; to subdue all her 
feelings of repining and discontent on her unfortu- 
nate isolated lot, by raising her thoughts continually 
upward, setting her affections there ; and to seek her 
all of earthly bliss in the anticipations of lieaven, in 
the blessedness of its redeemeil inhabitants. 

It was thus that the good Moravian j)eople of 
those days would have spoken to one so tempest- 
tossed in feeling, as the unfortunate Maria Beau- 
mont ; in this way to assuage the bitterness of her 
painful position ; at the same time, giving her their 
assurance, that, as long as she merited it, she would 
ever experience from them all, a kindly sympa- 
thizing interest, besides, true sisterly affection. 

Maria, after such conversations, became more 
tranquil in mind ; but she was naturally proud and 
high-spirited. This added to her exceeding sensi- 
tiveness, made her more keenly realize the fact of 
her disgraceful birth, and rendered it the more dif- 
ficult for her to become resigned to its dej)ressing 
and degrading influences. But presently she did 
apparently, in a measure, overcome these feelings. 
She became more cheerful, and then was so kind 
and obliging to everj one ; showed such willing- 
ness to serve them all in her power ; and so hum- 
bly grateful in return for any kindness shown her, 
that she became quite a favorite with her sister 



TALENT DEVELOPED. • 147 

maidens. Yet still she formed no intimate compan- 
ionship or friendship with either of them, much as 
she craved it, because of the base blood which 
coursed through her frame. 

A period passed thus ; though how long the 
space, I have not been informed. But in this in- 
terval, a new life had opened to the unfortunate 
Maria. I have said that she was fond of music, 
and had manifested a decided taste for this accom- 
plishment. She had given much attention to it, 
not only on account of its being a favorite pursuit, 
but as the means of her support ; and she had so 
cultivated and improved her talents in this respect, 
both as regarded her instrumental and vocal pow- 
ers, that, at the time of which I am writing, she 
had become a remarkably excellent pianist, while 
her singing was perfectly delightful and charm- 
ing. 

Indeed, she possessed an uncommon melodious 
voice, with nothing like the modern studied school 
of art, but sang in simple strains, in tones of the 
richest, sweetest melody ; besides, a pathos and 
tenderness pervaded her style, which rendered it 
irresistibly touching and captivating. She was, in 
fact, one of nature's most gifted minstrels ; the best 
probabl}^ which had ever been in Bethlehem, 
which is high commendation, as among these 
Moravians were many excellent performers. 

This wonderful gift of I^aturc jjroved a great 
solace to the poor girl, and in a great measure com- 



148 MUSIC AND SINGING. 

pensated for the injuries she had otherwise sustained 
from her. Yes, this unfortunate being, as the child 
of song — the best pianist in the phace — at the head 
of the musical choir of that Moravian Settlement as 
so distinguished by her talent, felt while the dark 
blood mounted her cheek, that in one respect, in 
spite of her ignoble origin, the meanness of her birth, 
she stood forth amid her sister-band, the acknowl- 
edged superior of all. 

Yet though she felt thus, she was not proud nor 
vain of her talents ; but it cheered her, while it les- 
sened, or rather tended to remove the barrier which 
to her mind had ever been betw^een her, and her as- 
sociate companions. She now no longer felt soli- 
tary and friendless. Charmed into a new existence 
by her owm marvellous powers of tuneful melody, 
she relieved her aching heart of its tumultuous 
throbbings for sweet fellowship of spirit with a kin- 
dred congenial mind, and sang herself into a ha|)p3^, 
joyous, and sometimes ecstatic state of being. 'No 
wonder then that she revelled in her delightful en- 
dow^ment. It was a perpetual feast to her ; and as 
she executed her various musical performances so 
admirably, no marvel that her listeners sometimes 
thought, especially wdien pouring forth a rich tide 
of almost seraphic notes, that she w^as under the in- 
spiration of the muse of song. 

At this time she had as many pupils as she could 
possibly attend to, and never, I ween, was there a 
more enthusiastic teacher — a more faithful, efficient 



PAINFUL RECOGNITION. H9 

instructress in the divine art she possessed in such 
wondrous perfection :— and hard did she strive, and 
patiently labor, to fill the very souls of her pupils 
wirii the same heavenly, musical harmony. 

"While thus engaged, a gentleman and lady ar- 
rived at Bethlehem ; they visited the School and 
the Sisters' House : Maria was giving a lesson at 
the former Institution, ^vhen they entered the room 
where she was : at that moment she happened to be 
singing a beautiful but simple little song for the ben- 
efit of her pupils, and was so absorbed thereby, that 
she did not immediately notice them. In the mean- 
while, they stood together a short distance from the 
piano, attentively observing her. Presently they 
drew softly nearer, until they stood directly behind 
her ; and in a brief space after, she turned around 
and saw the visitors. 

As she encountered the gaze of the gentleman, 
she became violently agitated. There stood the 
very likeness of her deceased father. She could 
not be mistaken, for every lineament of his fea- 
tures w^ere stamped upon the most enduring tablet 
of her memory. Tears gathered into her eyes, 
while her whole frame trembled wdtli excessive 
emotion. The lady perceiving this, said something 
to the gentleman ; then motioned him to leave the 
room ; whereupon they both quietly withdrew. 

They were scarcely gone, when Maria Beaumont 
overcome by her emotions, sank upon the floor in 
a state of insensibility. It so happened, that in the 



150 AGITATION. 

room where this occurred, at the time quite a num- 
ber of persons were assembled ; consisting of a class 
of pupils with at least one of their teachers. As it 
was in the afternoon, in one of the usual bourse de- 
voted to sewing, it is probable that tliey w^ere all 
thus engaged ; — or in knitting. Be that as it may, 
among this gathered number the event produced 
considerable excitement and alarm ; for they really 
did not know what was the matter, and some were 
under the apprehension that she had died. 

But, in a short space she revived ; then she im 
mediately recollected the cause of her sudden faint- 
ness ; and at the same moment, quick as the light- 
ning's flash, she remembered to whom alone among 
the living, probably belonged this exact counterpart 
in feature of her dead parent. And as faithful 
memory travelled through the dark vista of many 
years, she became more and more certain, that the 
'gentleman must be no other than a younger brother 
of her dead father. But of the lady, she had no 
knowledge. She surmised, however, that she was 
the wife of the gentleman ; and if so, and her other 
impression was correct, she ought at least to regard 
her with respect ; but strange to say, although she 
had given her but a passing glance, she felt pecu- 
liarly unpleasant towards her. The query occurred 
to her, what did these people come here for? 'Next 
the thought flitted across her mind, that, notwith- 
standing the promises made by her grandmother 
to the contrary, perhaps her father's brother's busi- 



151 

noss at tlie Settlement might he to claim lier, in 
order to reap pecuniary benefit from her musical 
talents. This fancy agonized the poor girl, and 
had she continued any length of time to indulge it, 
there is no knowing what would have been the con- 
sequences to herself. 

But fortunately for Maria, directly at this junc- 
ture, the Inspector of the School came into the 
room where she w^as to summon her into the pres- 
ence of these people. The venerable man immedi- 
ately perceived her anxious countenance, her visi- 
ble agitation, and smiling, bade her to calm herself, 
to be of good cheer, and fear not, for he believed 
they meant to be very kind to her. Thus assured, 
she went forth with him to be presented to her 
dreaded visitors. The Inspector, after introducing 
her, directly left the aj^artment. Maria hereupon, 
sank trembling into a chair. 

The gentleman then advanced towards her and 
said : " I suppose you do not remember me, Maria ? " 

She looked at him timidly, but did not reply. 

"Do not be so agitated," continued he, "I am 
your sincere friend, and you have nothing to fear 
from me ; but tell me, have you any recollection 
of me?" 

" Oh yes ! " she answered, " I am sure I know. 
You are my father's brother, for you are exactly 
like him!" 

" But not your uncle," he quickly replied. 

Maria here burst into tears. 



152 

" I do not wish to distress yon, bnt I suppose 
yon are acquainted with the history of your pa- 
rentage ? " 

The poor girl continued sobbing, yet soon re- 
plied : " Oh yes, indeed I am, and much grief of 
heart has it cost me ; and if a white woman had 
been my mother, you would be my uncle ; but as 
it is, being that I am only the child of a negro 
slave, I can be nothing of kin to yon." 

" True, true," said the gentleman, " you under- 
stand your position exactly, 1 perceive ; but this 
lady, my wife, you have never before seen, al- 
though she has been for some years very intimatel}- 
connected with your father's family. She was first 
the ward of our uncle, then presently married your 
father." 

The lady hereupon smiled, and looked kindly 
upon Maria ; while the poor girl shuddered as she 
saw the bride who had supplanted her unfortunate 
mother, and was the innocent means of fastening 
anew the fetters of bondage upon her, as well as 
upon all her brothers and her only sister. She 
thought of all this, and no marvel that she shrunk 
from her, groaned, and wept bitterly. 

" Do not cry so," said the lady, in a very com- 
passionate tone, " I am sorry that my presence so 
greatly distresses you." 

But Maria continued to weep on for a space, 
the couple in the meanwhile talking apart, and 
sometimes endeavoring to soothe her. Presently 



POOR BETSEY. 153 

she became somewhat more calm ; then the gentle- 
man informed Maria that her father had died 
nearly three years before ; that his marriage was 
childless, and about a year ago, he had married his 
widow. " We started almost directly afterwards 
for Em'ope," he continued, " spent some time with 
our friends there, then came to the States, where we 
have passed several months, and are soon now to 
journey homeward, but were induced from what we 
heard of you to come here and see you, to find out your 
real situation, tliinking, perhaps we might be of some 
service to you." 

" I thank you both very much," said Maria, 
'' but first please be so very kind as to tell me what 
has become of my poor sister Betsey ? " 

The pair looked at each other for a moment, 
somewhat embarrassed how to reply ; then the 
gentleman said : 

" I cannot satisfy you on that head ; her present 
situation had better remain unknown to you, nor 
can I inform you of aught concerning your brothers, 
except of the one called after my brother ; he is 
dead, as is also your mother." 

" I have heard all about her — but Betsey, my 
poor sister Betsey ? " 

"Her sad history is wisely concealed from you, 
believe me," said the lady, " but be thankful for 
your superior destiny." 

" It was with pleasure," interrupted the gentle- 
man, " that we hear you so highly spoken of; and 



154 A PKOPOSED GIFT. 

SO mucli praise bestowed upon your conduct gene- 
rally ; also that you are doing so well in a pecuni- 
ary point of view. But you do not appear strong 
nor very healthy. You must not exert yourself too 
much, nor suffer yourself to ponder over misery 
you can neither prevent nor terminate. I said one 
object in our coming here, was to show you kind- 
ness. ISTow tell me what can we do for you ? 
wherein can we best serve you." 

Maria could not answer. In truth, she did not 
know what to ask ; how should she ? Although 
she had several wants, and one in particular she 
craved — but it was an expensive one, hence she 
dared not to name it. 

" You seem to be at a loss for an answer to this 
question, Maria," said the gentleman ; " perhaps 
after you have played and sung for us, you can 
better decide," opening the piano as he spoke. 

Maria seated herself at the instrument, and exe- 
cuted a remarkably difficult composition in a truly 
admirable manner. She then sung one of her best 
performances, and in strains of such witching mel- 
ody, that her hearers became spell-bound and per- 
fectly fascinated. When she had finished, another, 
then another was demanded ; each seemed more 
touching than the preceding. 

'' What a pity ! and with such a voice ! " broke 
upon the ear of the sensitive girl ; and a pang shot 
through her heart, for she could guess, why, and 
wherefore, the meaning of this observation. 



ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 155 

" You play and sing divinely, Maria," remark- 
ed the lady ; " and what a valuable gift this splen- 
did talent is." 

"It is really so," added the gentleman; "and 
now, Maria, if you are still at a loss what to ask 
for, I will decide for you. We wish to make you a 
present which will he really useful to you, and it 
has occurred to me while you were playing, that a 
piano w^ould he as acceptable a one as w^e could 
bestow." 

" A piano ! " Maria's eyes brightening through 
her tears. " Oh, indeed, you could not give me 
any thing else I would like iuilf as well, except — " 
here she stopped and burst into tears. Then by a 
strong effort she succeeded in mastering her emo- 
tion, and added, "and my father's daughter thanks 
you as she alone can." 

The gentleman and lady were both somewhat 
moved ; the former then said : 

" Besides this, Maria, I mean to leave with you, 
an order on my agent in Philadelj)hia, for one 
hundred dollars ; but to be used only in case of 
your becoming disabled by sickness, from attend- 
ing to your business, or in any other extremity. 
This money, understand, at all events, is yours ; and 
as long as you do not want it, will accumulate at 
interest for your benefit, 

"Slavery money, doubtless," thought Maria. 
The very idea painfully agitated her, while she in- 
wardly resolved never to rnake use of a cent of it, 



156 THE PIANO. 

even were she reduced to the necessity of Jiving 
upon bread and water. This immediately became 
her settled determination, and it caused her to be 
painfully embarrassed in her reply ; but she mur- 
mured her grateful acknowledgments ; soon after 
which her visitors took their departure, and a short 
period subsequent to this, the piano, together with 
the promissory note, came safely to hand. The 
former was a plain-looking instrument, but well 
made, and of excellent tone. 

She now embraced every opj)ortunity of using 
it, with manifest advantage to herself, and the de- 
light of those who heard her. She continued the 
presiding genius of the musical choir at all the con- 
certs and festive celebrations of Bethlehem, for 
which occasions she composed some beautiful vocal 
and instrumental ^performances. In addition to 
these duties, she employed every available moment 
during the day, in giving lessons, from which, 
though she received never more than three dollars 
a quarter for each pupij, she nevertheless derived 
quite a sufficient income for her support. 

And thus she lived on for half a dozen years or 
more, nothing meanwhile occurring in her history 
to be recorded here, save that once during that in- 
terval, if I recollect aright, she was proposed to 
enter the missionary field either to the West Indies, 
or at one of the South American stations, the Mora- 
vians naturally supposing, that, with her abilities, 
pious and humble as she was, she might be of es- 



A NEW SITUATION. 157 

sential service to her colored brethren and sisters in 
that region. But to Maria Beaumont, to whom the 
very sight of a bhick person was an object of ex- 
treme painful ness, such a proposition caused intense 
agony of mind, and she shrunk from it in a manner 
which caused it not only to be immediately with- 
drawn, but prevented any repetition of the offer. 

The next situation proffered her, though attended 
with some hazard to herself, yet being quite con- 
genial to her feelings, she willingly accepted. This 
was to become one of the resident teachers at Beth- 
lehem School. Maria was well educated, and prob- 
ably ere this would have been appointed to occupy 
this position, had she not possessed the peculiar taint 
of her African origin, which it was feared might be- 
tray itself to her disadvantage, and subject her feel- 
ings to some painful ordeal. But from being them- 
selves accustomed to it, I suppose, the Society im- 
agined that this infirmity was now not as percepti- 
ble as formerly, and the circumstances of her birth 
being unknown in the school, they hoped that it 
would altogether escape observation. And so in- 
deed, I believe, proved to be the case as far as dis- 
covering the cause for a considerable number of 
years. 

In the meanwhile, Maria Beaumont had risen 
in every sense of the word, to an equality with her 
associate teachers, and by all she was treated with 
the considerate kindness and respect whicli she 
really merited ; and when I entered the school, she 



158 THE LITTLE WEST INDIAN. 

was ^ still the prominent leader of music at the 
church, and the principal instructress of it in the 
Institution. 

My notice was first attracted to her at the fu- 
neral services of one of my schoolmates, a little 
West India orphan girl of six years of age, who, 
directly after her coming, had commenced to droop. 
In truth, she was too delicate an exotic to bear 
transplanting to our northern clime just as the 
wintry weather was beginning to set in. She came 
in October, and the first frost of autumn blighted 
the fair flower, and thus scarcely a month after her 
arrival, she had entirely faded, and lay withered 
before us. She was a very sweet and engaging 
child, and Sister Maria (as Maria Beaumont was 
now called) had immediately become very much 
interested in her. She fondly loved this little 
being, perhaps with greater fervor than she had 
ever felt towards any of the pupils. And full well 
do I recollect with what touching pathos she pour- 
ed out in plaintive melody her grief upon the occa- 
sion. She sang a solo — a requiem to the departed 
— so powerfully efi:ective, that her hearers were 
spell-bound, and many of them much overcome. 
I remember that it moved me to tears, and although 
since I have listened to many a strain of witching 
melody from some of the most famed of earth's 
minstrels, not one of them has so impressed me as 
the funeral hymn breathed out by this humble 
Creole child of song. She was at this period abqiit 



MARY YOUNG. 159 

forty years of age, in the very zenith of her fame ; 
in good health, and apparently destined to charm 
the little world around her for many a coming year 
with the powers of her wondrous gift. Yet, even 
then, the arrow was sharpened which was to pierce 
her heart, and the destroying angel stood ready to 
execute his commission. And she was to fall, too, a 
victim to herself; self-sacrificed at the shrine of 
feeling, her talent prompted the deed, though the 
weapon used was by a pupil. And thus I preface 
this sad catastrophe. 

At this time, quite a number of young ladies 
were at the school from the Southern States. 
Among these, was one of about sixteen ; proud, 
haughty, jealous, vindictive, and very impulsive 
withal, who, I shall call by the name of Mary 
Young. She belonged to the class under the espe- 
cial charge of Sister Maria, and lived in the room 
with her. She came from Maryland, and was per- 
fectly acquainted with all the distinguishing char- 
acteristics belonging to the colored people, and 
soon discovered that her teacher had similar, and 
on scanning her features narrowly, was convinced 
that she belonged to the same race; whereupon 
she became very angry, deeming it, I suppose, an 
insult to be subject to her authority. 

In those days, it was customary at Bethlehem 
School, to have musical soirees, at stated times dur- 
ing the winter months, when the best performers of 
the respective teachers, exhibited their skill and 



160 THE MUSICAL SOIREE. 

proficiency in this delightful accomplishment, and 
they played and sung to a gathered anditory as- 
sembled for the purpose. The period had now 
arrived when the first of these entertainments for 
the season was to be given. The time fixed being, 
if my memory is correct upon the subject, about a 
week or two subsequent to the death of the little 
"West Indian. 

These exhibitions nsually produced considerable 
excitement in the school, and this one more partic- 
ularly, as it was the commencement of the series. 
It so happened that just then there were some very 
excellent performers in the Institution, and these 
were under the instruction of several different 
teachers, each of whom, of course, was most inter- 
ested in those pupils under her especial supervision. 
All were desirous that theirs should excel, or at 
least, do as well in comparison as the others ; and 
much pains had been bestowed to accomplish this 
result, yet all expected to yield the palm to one of 
Sister Maria's pupils, who was no other than Mary 
Young. In truth, she was an excellent performer. 
My impression is that she excelled all her com- 
panions, and her faithful teacher had placed her in 
this enviable position. She caused her to make 
very rapid improvement, and Sister Maria, greatly 
gratified and prond of her attainments, became the 
more desirous to display them to the greatest pos- 
sible advantage to others. For this purpose, she 
gave her a difiicult, but very brilliant piece, which 



THE PRIMA DONNA. 161 

she taught Iier to execute admirably, and had ah-eady 
received many liatteriiig encomiums concerning it 
from the other teachers, as also in reference to 
another shorter composition. In fact, Mary Young 
was considered the prima donna of the evening, 
and the whole expected to be altogether a superior 
affair of the kind. 

The evening came, but the weather proved 
rather unpropitious ; yet the company was consid- 
erable. Indeed, with the scholars and visitors, the 
cliapel contained more than its usual complement 
of persons. And quite an array of young faces ap- 
peared in that congregated assembly, all beaming 
in smiles and joyous expectation, save one — and 
Bhe — but I must not anticipate. ^ 

Sister Maria, of course, expected to be the pre- 
siding genius of that promised entertainment. She 
was in her element, and seemed perfectly absorbed 
in the duties before her. There she sat, clad in her 
accustomed neat and simple style, the observed of 
all, whose attention became more particularly at- 
tracted towards her, because it liad been whispered 
that she intended to contribute her part to the 
pleasures of the evening. Slie looked remarkably 
happy, and flushed with the excitement of her feel- 
ings. 

And as she took her place by the piano, never, 
1 ween, in her whole life, had she felt more pleased 
and satisfied with herself; more deeply under the 
influence of her own enchanting talents; more 



162 THE DEMON. 

surely realizing her own wonderful powers. This 
was the impression of the general mind of the com- 
pany present ; and I remember, though then but a 
little girl, how I myself was struck by the sudden 
kindling up of her eyes ; indeed, the whole expres- 
sion of her features as she yielded her nature to the 
spells it had itself cast around her, and became in- 
spired with the pure seraphic spirit of her glorious, 
her divine art. 

The exercises commenced. • ^N'exther sweet voice 
broke forth upon the eagerly listening ear. She 
sung one of the most charming compositions of that 
day, quite new to many of her auditors ; a per- 
fectly exquisite gem of song ; and she warbled it 
forth, if possible, with more than her accustomed 
richness of melody ; with all the superior ability 
her minstrelsy possessed. Presently she ceased, 
amid the breathless stillness of the enra^^tured as- 
sembly. 

And surely had there been any malevolent 
feelings in the heart of any of that gathered throng, 
it ought, methinks, to have been subdued, even as 
the evil spirit in Saul was, by the potent spell of 
the harp of David. But, strange to say, such was 
not the effect now with regard to one individual 
present. On the contrary, it would appear, a dark 
demon from the nether world, not relishing notes 
which savored so much of the heaven he had lost, 
made it the fitting opportunity of accomplishing 
his will. Unfortunately, he too readily found a 



THE PERFORMANCE. 163 

willing agent to execute liis diabolical design. 
And seeing the destroying angel near at hand to 
bear away that charming songstress, he took the 
deadly weapon, pointed it with his own fatal 
venom, and then — but I am anticipating. 

To return to my sad stor3^ As soon as Sister 
Maria had linished her song, first one pupil, then 
another, took their place at the instrument, and ac- 
quitted themselves very creditably to both teacher 
and performer. Presently afterwards, the turn of 
Mary Young came, when she was to perform the 
crowning piece of all. Unfortunately, by this time 
the chapel had become excessiv^ely warm, which 
made the taint of poor Sister Maria's African origin 
the more perceptible, especially to the sensitive 
olfactory nerves of the young Southerner. 

" The piece of music we are about to hear, my 
friends," remarked the Inspector of the School, " is 
a very fine composition, and, though difiicult, I 
think will be well executed by the pupil who is to 
perform it, as she not only possesses much talent 
herself, but added tliereto, has had the greatest pos- 
sible pains bestowed upon her by her faithful and 
excellent instructress, Sister Maria Beaumont, long 
favorably known to you all. Miss Mary Young, you 
will please now to come forward to the piano." 

She obeyed not the summons, but looked very 
much excited. 

" Do not be agitated, my dear," continued the 
Inspector, Brother Steinhaur, in an encouraging 



164 THE FOUL FIEND WORKING. 

tone ; "nor lose confidence in yourself, but do yom* 
best, and I doubt not that the result will justify our 
warmest commendations." 

Still, she hesitated a moment longer ; then rose 
with a flushed face, a haughty manner, and proudly 
took her seat at the instrument. She immediately 
moved off as far as possible from Sister Maria, who, 
observing that she was not properly seated, gently 
mentioned the circumstance to her, at the same 
time, assisting her to rectify the error. In a mo- 
ment more, she had commenced ; but such playing ; 
no time, no harmony whatever, but instead, notliing 
but mistakes of every kind ; " and she, deadly pale 
and flushed by turns. 

"What is the matter, my dear Mary ? " tenderly 
inquired Sister Maria. " I am afraid that you are 
ill." 

Upon this Mary suddenly stopped, again chang- 
ed her position as far off as she possibly could from 
her astonished instructress. She now trembled ex 
cessively, while her face betrayed a jDarticularly 
hateful and indescribable expression, arising from 
a settled malignant purpose. As no one present 
could look down into the caverns of her heart, and 
see the foul fiend who was working with the under- 
current of her feelings, they could not understand 
the meaning of her behavior, nor the purport of 
her strange conduct ; yet all who were acquainted 
with her natural disposition were inclined to judge 
her unfavorably. All did, but her good, kind, un- 



THE UNSUSPECTING TEACHER. 165 

suspecting teacher; who, although more mystified 
tlian tlie rest, was full of excuses and sympathy for 
her. She made every apology in her behalf, at- 
tributing her failure either to sudden timidity, 
arising perhaps from want of confidence in her- 
self — or it may be a strange lapse of memory — or 
that she really was not well. 

" Some such cause must certainly be the reason, 
and whatever it is," continued the excellent lady, 
" I deeply regret it, not only from the disappoint- 
ment it will occasion to our assembled friends, but 
more especially on account of the great mortifica- 
tion it will doubtless produce to my dear pupil." 

While Sister Maria had been thus speaking in 
behalf of Mary Young, the latter continued to 
tremble. She now became deadly pale and seem- 
ed inwardly convulsed ; while ever and anon she 
gave a look, a scornful look, at Sister Maria. She 
was gathering nerve to speak. Presently she arose, 
coughed, then slowly reseated herself. 

Sister Maria mistaking her emotion, gently, 
soothingly whispered to her : " Calm yourself, my 
dear child ; some future time, when you are in 
more fitting mood, you will doubtless amply com- 
pensate our friends for this disappointment." 

" As Miss Mary Young is not capable of per- 
forming this evening, she is at liberty to withdraw," 
said the Inspector of the School. 

Again a deep color flushed the cheek of Mary 
Young, yet for a brief space, she did not move ; 



166 POOR SISTEE MARIA. 

then summoning the requisite resolution, she rose 
from the piano, and looking full in the face of 
Brother Steinhaur, said in a loud voice, trembling 
with excessive emotion : 

" It is not because I am not able to play this 
piece, sir, or that I have not sufficient confidence 
to do so, before this company ; neither am I at 
present sick. I know it perfectly — yes, every note 
of it, and am besides very well — entirely well — but 
I am determined not to play it, because — because — " 
here she cleared her throat, stopped a moment, 
afterwards cast a withering look upon her kind 
instructress, at the same moment apparentl}^ re- 
coiling from her; '* because," she again said, ''I 
will not, I say ; for I am resolved to show, what- 
ever others may choose to do to the contrary, that 
from henceforth I will never again submit to the 
degradation of being dictated to by a mean, low 
nigger-woman." 

Hereupon she passionately closed her music- 
book ; then with an air of offended dignity, hastily 
took her departure, not only from the instrument, 
but from the chapel. And as she walked through 
the ranks of her schoolmates, a scornful and trium- 
phant expression rested u]3on her countenance. She 
slammed the door violently after her. 

Poor Sister Maria ! Better, far better, that the 
assassin's steel had pierced through her gentle 
bosom, than this fatal wound by cruel speech had 
been inflicted upon her. For words can as surely. 



THE ENVENOMED DART. 167 

and as quickly kill, a.^ the most deadly instrument, 
venomous reptile, or dostiiietive mineral or weed. 
And the effect, in this instance, proved immediate; 
for it was then the poisoned shaft of the fell de- 
stroyer entered the heart of the sensitive and un- 
fortunate woman, and the sound of that last burst 
of passion was scarcely over, ere, with one w^ild 
shriek of agony, she fell senseless, and apparently 
lifeless upon the floor. 

And now a scene of consternation and confusion 
ensued. The excitement was intense. Agitation 
and anxiety w^ere strongly blended upon the fea- 
tures of every one of that gathered assembly, more 
especially among that youthful band who but a few 
brief moments before, had appeared so full of pleas- 
urable emotions. 

The entertainment had, of course, immediately to 
be broken up. A gathering directly took place 
around poor Sister Maria, and presently after slie was 
gently borne away to the sick-room of the Institution, 
by some of the sympathizing associate sisters. A 
physician had been directly sent for. In the mean- 
while, the scholars in their respective classes, w^ere 
quietly despatched to their dormitories ; where soon 
hushed was every voice, naught being heard through 
the vast apartments, save the breathing of the many 
sleepers, together with the distant footfall and soft 
wdiispers of anxious watchers, hovering in attend- 
ance near the couch of the unfortunate sufferer. 

Long she remained in that fearful swoon, after- 



1 G 8 DEATH-BLOW. 

wards fainting fits sncceecled ; then again slie lay 
in a trance-like lethargy, and days passed, ere 
she was fully aroused to consciousness to continue 
for any length of time. But better, far better, she 
had never revived ; and instead, died directly 
from the pestiferous venom of that cruel tongue, 
than to return to life ; to agonizing remembrance 
of that painful scene, and as busy, faithful memory 
brought it before her, to feel its baneful influence, 
its poisonous effects shooting athwart the chambers 
of her very soul, pervading every fibre of her frame, 
and sapping even the life-blood of her existence. 
For with restoration to her mental powers, came 
the recollection of the whole of the lamentable 
affair. 

How the secret so long faithfully kept, had been 
so publicly and cruelly divulged, in consequence 
hurling her from her high envied place of position, 
down, — down, to the lowest degradation, to the 
mean level of the despised and accursed race from 
w^hich she had sprung ; how this painful circumstance 
became known, was perfectly inexplicable to her, 
that she was the child of a base-born woman, a 
negro slave. Sometimes she would fain hope that 
all which had occurred was but a dream, a fright- 
ful dream; but her throbbing temples, the wild 
beating of her heart, with the tortures which ran- 
kled there, and memory, with unclouded reason, 
soon dispelled this illusion. 

Then by turns she sobbed and raved ; weeping 



THAT DAKK STAIN. 169 

as if lier very heart would break. It was piteous 
to see and hear her, especially as vain were all the 
efforts made to cheer her. She would neither be 
comforted nor consoled. There was a poignancy 
in the bitterness of her sorrow, in the nature of the 
wound her feelings had received ; which seemed to 
find no relief in the ordinary ministrations of sym- 
pathizing kindness. 'No marvel, therefore, that she 
refused its soothing influence, and instead, con- 
tinued to grieve on, and fret her life away. Yet 
for a space she lingered upon the threshold of 
eternity, and until a short time previous to her de- 
parture, remained in a sad, unhappy, and melan- 
choly state of mind. Except when under the ef- 
fects of strong opiates, she continued to weep and 
bewail her hateful birth, also to blame the authors 
of her being, for her wretched existence. 

" Oh that dark stain ! far worse than the brand- 
ed mark of Cain ! — would that my tears could 
wash it away ! But no — though years have con- 
cealed it, it now appears again as fresh and new as 
ever, and there is nothing now left for me to do but 
to die ! — yes, for very shame to die ! " — 

Then again, she would murmur words like these, 
or of similar import : " A low, mean, nigger-woman; 
— yes, I cannot deny that ; — yet I am not black ; — 
I am white ; almost as white as she is ; yet, she 
3ays I am a nigger ; — but I am white ; indeed I am 
white : " then stripping up the sleeves of her night- 
dress, and stretching out her arms exclaimed, " See, 
8 



170 THE VICTIM. 

I am white ! — perfectly white ! — my arms, my face, 
my hands ! wliere is the black blood ? — not here ! 
not here ! nowhere ! — my skin is all white ! — then 
why call me a low, mean, nigger-woman ! " Then 
again she wept bitterly. 

" Compose yourself, my poor dear Maria," said 
some one who heard her talking thus : " pray do not 
distress yourself any more, about what that wicked 
girl said : you must try to dismiss it entirely from 
your mind, and endeavor now to get some sleep, 
— won't you? " she added coaxingly. 

" It is no use," she replied ; '' sleeping or waking 
it constantly haunts my memory. Nor can I forgive 
Mary Young those cruel words." 

" But indeed, Maria, that would be uncliristian- 
like. You must try not only to forgive her, but to 
forget it all." 

" A low, mean, nigger-woman — and would no 
longer submit to the degradation of being taught 
by me: this was what she meant: and then her 
look — ^that dreadful look of hate and scorn — of 
proud defiance— and from one too, upon whom I 
had bestowed the greatest possible pains and was 
so proud of. Can I forget this all ? — impossible, — 
I never can ! for it is impressed in unfading, undy- 
ing characters upon my very soul, so that Death it- 
self cannot, methinks, ever erase it. " 

" Yet you must forgive her, my poor dear Maria 
— you must not die thus, in your present unhappy 
Btate of mind. Pray for a forgiving spirit. Think 



THE WAILING OF A BREAKING HEART. 171 

liow miicli the Saviour sufFered ; — how dreadfully 
He was reviled, and persecuted, and insulted ; — 
how crnellj abused : think of His wrongs, trials, and 
bitter agony : He, the pure and sinless one — the im- 
maculate Son of God — and take pattern by His 
blessed example — He forgave all his enemies — 
prayed for them — saying to his Holy Father, ' For- 
give them, for they know not what they do.' And 
so you must feel towards Mary Young, for the 
wretched girl really did not know what she was do- 
ing Avhen she behaved so to you. She is very im- 
pulsive and passionate, you remember, and you 
must make some allowances for her prejudices, be- 
ing from the South. " 

" I must excuse her in consequence, and forgive 
her for trampling upon my very heart. And I am 
required to do this — but how can I ? " — and she burst 
anew into tears, and wept again, until nature be- 
came perfectly exhausted, and she sank into the in- 
sensibility of sleep. 

Even then, her bruised mortified spirit had no 
rest ; and she was heard frequently to whisper as 
to herself, — " a low, mean, nigger-woman — yes — a 
low, mean, nigger-woman" — sobbing bitterly as she 
repeated the liateful words. 

And thus, day by day, poor Maria Beaumont 
wailed her life away ; each returning sun finding 
her weaker, and more evidently hastening to the 
tomb. AVhen told she would certainly die, she 
hailed the grim messenger with apparent delight, 



172 ANTICIPATIONS OF HKAYEN. 

as the friend who was to convey her to her Father's 
house. 

''Oh, how I long to go ! Oh, that I could die 
at once ! — to be where there is no distinction of 
color or race to mar the happiness of its inhabitants 
■ — where the child of the negro-woman, although 
among the meanest and lowest of earthly creatures 
formed in the Divine image, is not the despised, 
odious, and accursed thing it is here ; — where the 
offspring of the bondwoman will enjoy the same 
freedom in Christ, as the fairest of other beings, — 
will be as the angels in heaven before the throne — 
be permitted to be near tlie blessed Saviour and for 
ever dwell there — yes, this will indeed be perfect 
happiness. Then how Avill my glad, emancipated 
spirit, raise its notes of thanksgiving for its eternal 
redemption through Infinite love and goodness." 

These were some of Sister Maria's aspirations, 
hopes, and anticipations, and, while her mind rest- 
ed upon them, she was happy, superlatively happy; 
but when her thoughts returned to earth, to her 
trials and sufferings, she would become perfectly 
wretched and miserable, weeping and moaning in- 
cessantly. 

Her situation excited considerable sympathy 
and interest ; and much anxiety was manifested iu 
every way on her account, more especially to make 
her more comfortable and tranquil in mind. Hence 
eftbrts were made not only to change the current of 
her feelings entii'ely from thinking with bitterness 



EEMOESE OF MARY YOUNG. 173 

and severity of the conduct of Mary Young, but to 
encourage a forgiving spirit on her part towards 
lier. But her only reply for a number of days was 
tears, scalding tears. 

Now turn we, for a space, from this scene of 
strong mental distress, to the room where Sister 
Maria had been w^ont to live and move, as one of 
the resident teachers, with a number of young ladies 
from fifteen to sixteen and seventeen years of age. 
This comprehended the oldest of the pupils in the 
Institution. Of course they were of various charac- 
ters, and I recollect nothing of them individually, 
save of Mary Young, and that her shocking con- 
duct was universally condemned by the whole 
class; also, as Sister Maria grew w^orse, she was 
more and more shunned and upbraided for it. 

As is generally the case with people when they 
do WTong, they endeavor to justify themselves ; so 
did Mary Young, at first, attempt to defend herself 
from the severe censures she so well merited ; but 
presently as her victim neared the tomb, she began 
to realize what she had really done ; that she had, 
indeed, sent the death-blow to that sensitive heart. 
As this conviction fastened itself upon her mind, 
she became a prey to remorse of conscience, and 
sincerely lamented her folly, thoughtlessness, un- 
kindness, and cruelty. Then willingly would she 
have atoned for her grievous fault, by the most 
humble apology ; also, by lavishing upon her every 
possible kind attention in her power to render. 



1T4 PENITENCE. 

And slie wept, prayed, and wrung her hands in 
bitter shame and agony. 

"Tell her; do tell her, if you please," sobbed 
the wretched girl, " how very, very sorry I am for 
what I said ; that I feel it was very wicked in me 
to speak as I did, and beg her to forgive me for it. 
But pray do not let her die on this account, I en- 
treat you." 

Hereupon, Mary followed her messenger, and 
crouching outside of the sick-room close to the 
door, she anxiously listened for the repl3^ The 
door was ajar. Mary looked in and saw her former 
kind instructress, whom she had so cruelly used, 
the victim of her pride and scorn, laid low upon a 
bed of suffering, so fearfully altered that she could 
scarcel}^ recognize her. She was dying. The an- 
gel of death was even then flapping his cold wings 
over her. Sister Maria appeared to be slumbering. 
Presently, a wail of weeping reached her ear. It 
arrested her attention. She opened her eyes and 
gazed wistfully around. 

" What sounds of grief do I hear ? " asked she ; 
" surel}^ not for me ; the child of a poor, mean, 
nigger-woman," continued the dying one. 

" It is even so," was the reply ; "and it is Mary 
Young who is crying, and for very sorrow, shame, 
and penitence, that she is causing you so much 
suffering, so much heart-felt woe ; and she begs, 
entreats, and implores you to forgive her." 

Mary here came forward, sobbing violently. 



THE STTNGER AND THE STUNG. 175 

The dying woman no sooner perceived the author 
of her misery, than she drew the sheet over her 
face, as if to exclude her from her sight, and com- 
menced to scream terribly. 

" Go away ! go away ! " — then " rats ! rats ! 
rats ! " she wildly exclaimed. " Take them away ! 
Take them away ! " 

" Where are they ? " was the inquiry. 

"There! there! there!" she answered, uncov- 
ering her face, and fixing a fearful gaze upon Mary 
Young. " There they are ! " pointing towards her, 
" and they are gnawing at my vitals — at my 
very heart ; take tliem awa}^ ! do pray take them 
away ! " 

" You fancy all this, my dear sister," was the 
reply ; " there are no rats here, nor any thing else 
to hurt you ; therefore, pray do not be so fright- 
ened." 

" Yes, there are rats here, I tell you, and all 
have the face of Mary Young! Oh, take them 
away, take them away, I say ! " 

" But, indeed, you are mistaken," answered the 
sister ; " there are no rats here, but only several 
of the sisters and the wretched Mary, who is truly 
contrite for her wicked behavior to you, and is 
come on purpose to assure you so. She desires 
•most earnestly that you forgive her; and you cer- 
tainly will, wont you ? " she added entreatingly. 

" A low, mean, nigger-woman ! is that what she 



1Y6 FANCIES OF THE DYING ONE. 

wants me to forgive ? — go away ! go away, I tell 
yon!" 

Here Mary knelt down beside the bed, and 
burst into an agony of tears. 

" Oh, Sister Maria," sobbed out the conscience- 
stricken, unhappy girl ; " I beseech, I implore you 
to forgive me ; and believe me I am very, very 
sorry." 

But the very sight of tlie being who caused her 
sufferings, the painful mortification she had under- 
gone, was too much for the dying woman. 

" Why do you come here," she asked, " to 
torture me so? is it not enough that you have 
broken my heart ? that you are killing me ? — a low, 
mean, nigger- woman !" she again murmured to her- 
self. 

Hereupon she closed her eyes, as if to shut out 
some dreadful object; then Mary was motioned out 
of the room. Soon after. Sister Maria fell asleep, 
or rather into a stupor, when ever and anon the 
name of Mary Young passed her lips ; and she re- 
peated those galling words, " a low, mean, nigger- 
woman." Presently she revived again, and with 
the same strange fancy that rats were about her — 
that the room was full of them. 

" Here they are again ! and see how they look 
like Mary Young ; and they are gnawing me still. 
Oh, take them away ! " and she sunk back exhaust- 
ed on the bed. 

She had become exceedingly feeble, but stimu- 



THE CONFLICT AND THE RESULT. 177 

lants being given, slie presently revived consider- 
ably ; yet very perceptibly the lamp of life now 
flickered in the socket, and would ere long go out. 
By and by she opened her eyes in perfect con- 
sciousness. A number of persons had gathered 
into the room, and surrounded the couch of their 
dying sister. Among them, were Brother Stein- 
haur, and another clergyman, I think it was Bishop 
Reichel, who had always been a particular friend 
of Sister Maria, and came to administer the last 
rites of the church to a living immortal ; of com- 
mending the spirit to its God in a benedictory 
prayer. Yet, ere he performed this customary 
solemn service, he told the dying one of his pur- 
pose ; then inquired if she died in peace with all 
the world, and from her heart, truly, and fully for- 
gave Mary Young. 

" For," added the good Bishop, " you know, my 
dear sister, we cannot expect forgiveness from our 
Lord, if we do not forgive our fellow-creatures." 

Thereupon immediately tears trickled down the 
pale cheeks of Sister Maria. She became exceed- 
ingly agitated, in fact alarmingly so. Iler whole 
frame seemed convulsed with the violence of her 
feelings ; with the conflict waging against her na- 
ture, and life evidently was rapidly ebbing away. 
Yet she must not die thus ; not until she had really 
forgiven Mary Young. Hence stimulants were 
again given, and profusely, which caused her to 
rally. Yet she continued to weep. 
8* 



178 PKAYER AND PAKDON. 

" Pray for me, dear brother, for grace to do it," 
at length she gasped out. 

Then down fell the venerable man upon his 
knees, with all the assembled company ; fervently 
he raised his voice to heaven in her behalf; and he 
wept too, as he prayed, while the sisters joined him 
in both these sympathetic offices of aifectionate in- 
terest. When done, he again bent over the dying 
sister to whisper words of counsel, comfort, and 
peace ; and tenderly, lie sought to soothe her, to 
reconcile her to herself, as well as to her who so 
fatally had wounded her keenest sensibilities. As 
he spoke. Sister Maria became more calm. At 
length she rej^lied, feebly : 

"I feel all you say, my dear Brother Reichel, 
and I thank you much for it ; for the Lord, I am 
assured, has heard your prayers in my behalf. And 
all is changed now with regard to her — yet I can- 
not see her." 

" I am very glad to hear you say, my sister, 
that you really forgive her ; this is all that is neces- 
sary." 

" Yes, I do," she emphatically answered ; " even 
as my blessed Saviour forgave his murderers, so do 
I forgive Mary Young ; but let me not look upon 
her, lest other feelings should come again, for I 
am, you know, very weak. The Lord is very mer- 
ciful to me, and He will, I feel, receive me to him- 
self, mean and humble as I am. And now : 



179 



" How I long to go and see, 
The Lamb of God who died for me ; 
How do I languish night and day, 
-* To hear him bid me come away. 

Quickly, Lord, thy angels charge, 
To set my longing soul at large ; 
Quickly thy blessed Hosts command, 
To carry me to thy right hand." 

She repeated the last lines almost indistmctly. 

The Bishop hereupon pronounced the bene- 
dictory prayer. The scene was solemn and affect- 
ing. 

" Now sing," said she, " of my dear Saviour, 
while I sing my soul away ; and do you, my sisters, 
join me ; and when I can no longer use my voice, 
pray you continue on, for thus would I enter 
heaven." 

And as the swan, when dying, sings her sweet- 
est lay, so Maria Beaumont warbled forth her own 
requiem, and with such j)athos, in such unearthly 
strains, as I ween have seldom been ever heard in 
similar circumstances. She sang several verses of 
different Moravian hymns ; then, " Jesus, lover of 
niy soul, &c." This was her favorite hymn. She 
got through the greater part of the first stanza tol- 
erably well ; in the last line her voice faltered con- 
siderably ; and when she came to the line, " Still 
support and comfort me," she ceased entirely ; tlie 
words died upon her tongue ; the gathered group 
around her w^ent on and finished the verse ; yet, 
ere they were quite at the close of it, there was a 



180 THE BRUISED SPIRIT AT REST. 

slight muscular action, a heavy sigh, one or two 
resi^iratioiis, and she was gone. 

Yes, poor Maria Beaumont's bruised spirit jvas 
at rest, eternally healed, and disfranchised from the 
hateful clog of earth, which had so long painfully 
held it in bondage. Such, in every material im- 
portant fact, as near as I can recollect, were the 
incidents as I heard them at the time, attending the 
lamentable death of this unfortunate lady. They 
were of so j)eculiar a nature, and occurring when 
they did, in the very house I lived, and one of the 
pupils being thus instrumental, by a single act of 
thoughtless folly, of producing such fatal results, 
made the whole circumstances the more impressive 
upon a memory unusally retentive. From its un- 
fading records of this period of my childhood, I 
have gleaned this narrative, and give it with the 
hope that the lesson it teaches may prove instruc- 
tive to some of my readers. 

The wise man says, " that death and life are in 
the power of the human tongue ; " while the Apostle 
James tells us, " it is a fire — a world of iniquity — 
that the tongue defileth the whole body, and setteth 
on fire the course of nature, and so is set on fire of 
hell. For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and 
of serpents, and of things in the sea, is tamed, and 
hath been tamed of mankind ; but the tongue can 
no man tame ; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly 
poison ;" and again we are informed in Holy Writ, 



THE HUMAN SCOURGE. 181 

" of the wickedness wliich is hid under the tongue, 
and becomes as the gall of asps within. 

■Jhe truth of these declarations so sadly realized 
in my story, has been proven, in innumerable other 
instances. Alas ! how much of human woe, of in- 
tense mental suffering, has been produced in the 
w^orld by this baneful scourge of our race, that dan- 
gerous weapon, the human tongue. 

When 1 see how much of agonizing suffering is 
caused in the world by evil speaking, defamation 
of character, slander, unkind remarks injurious to 
reputation or feeling ; when I mark how my fel- 
lows-beings thus cruelly sting each other, per- 
haps totally wounding their peace and happiness ; 
wdien I note all the mischief done by this hu- 
man instrument of torture, I marvel not that he of 
old, of whom the Bible tells us as sent to hell, suf- 
fered more in that organ of his body than in any 
other ; for methinks it was the sins of the tongue 
which brought him there. And at the last day of 
acount, it may be that he will be found to have 
many associates, each craving a dj-op of cold water 
to cool his burning misery. 

Therefore, let us 

"Learn to control the tongue, that restless thing, 
Of mischief oft, and shame the fatal spring." 



LIZZIE GOULD. 

A ';v'Ji>, ?.arnm-scanim sort of a girl was Lizzie 
Gould ; CO full of fun and miscliief, wilful and im- 
pulsive, ever thoughtless and reckless of conse- 
quences, as to be a perpetual cause of anxiety to 
her teachers ; yet nevertheless always so affection- 
ate and good-natured withal, and had besides such 
a number of popular qualities of character, as not 
only rendered her a great favorite in the school, but 
made it exceedingly difficult to correct effectually 
any of her faults. 

In truth, whenever Lizzie was called to account 
for any of her numerous peccadilloes, she always 
directly, frankly acknowledged them; at the same 
time manifested so much apparent sorrow, made 
such fair promises with regard to the future, be- 
haved so generously kind to her admonisher, that 
she readily obtained forgiveness and was restored 
to favor. Yet, perhaps directly after, the volatile 
girl would be thinkiug of some other scrape, by 
which she would probably not only get herself, but 
eome of her schoolmates into difficulty, 



A RESTLESS AND UNQUIP:T NATURE. 183 

The rules and restrictions of the school were apt 
to be exceedingly irksome to Lizzie, as they inter- 
fered greatly with her freedom of action. She 
found them very inconvenient and annoying to her 
unquiet and restless spirit; hence she frequently 
violated them. This, of course brought her into 
trouble, and she was punished in consequence with 
some of the mild discipline exercised in the Institu- 
tion ; such as sitting upon a stool by herself in a 
corner, where nobody was allowed to speak to her ; 
learning a few verses of some Moravian hjann, or a 
psalm, or a part of a chapter in the Bible. She 
submitted to all this with the best possible grace ; 
not that she was indifferent to the present restraint 
it imposed upon her, but simply, because she could 
not help it, and she considered the circumstance an 
unavoidable necessity. 

Nor did the cares and anxieties of Lizzie's 
teachers regarding her cease with the day. In the 
silent watches of the night, she often required their 
attention, and frequently, by her pranks, gave them 
as much trouble, if not more, than in her waking 
hours ; for she both talked and walked in her sleep ; 
and at such times she was prone to be so droll and 
amusing, as to produce an infinite degree of fun 
and amusement to her schoolmates generally ; be- 
sides, in addition, exciting considerable alarm among 
the smaller children, who in their fright were wont 
to scream out most terrifically, imagining her either 
some ghost or robber. Sometimes, indeed, it would 



184 CARRYING ON. 

appear as if she intended to jump out of the win- 
dow — then again, I have known her to act as if she 
imagined herself upon horseback — or she would 
wrap a sheet around her and make a strange noise, 
when none of us could understand wdiat she meant. 

I believe some of the teachers fancied that the 
wild girl at such times only pretended to be asleep. 
In fact, they actually charged her with it, and 
scolded her severely in consequence ; yet she de- 
nied this most positively ; they next endeavored to 
frighten her out of these doings, but in vain ; even 
though they tried to make her believe that such 
cai'Tying on^ as they termed her strange behavior, 
was at the instigation of the Devil himself, who 
made her act so ; yet even this representation appar- 
ently had no efiect whatever, and she continued 
her nightly pranks as usual, maintaining that she 
really could not help her conduct, and begging 
them not to scold her for it. And sometimes she 
would enforce this request w^ith tears. Yet, not- 
withstanding this, I rather think poor Lizzie Gould 
was not believed, as her teachers thought she ex- 
hibited too much method in her eccentric doings. 

I have no distinct recollection of the features of 
this schoolmate ; the reason of this is we were 
neither room-associates, nor in any of the same 
classes ; but all I do remember is from the impres- 
sions which were left upon my young mind con- 
cerning her. If these do not lead me astray, she 
was about eleven or twelve years of age, slender. 



ECCENTRICITIES. 185 

and delicately formed, very supple-limbed, and re- 
markably nimble-footed. I remember it being said 
of lier, that she could climb a tree like a squirrel ; 
also, was so fleet of foot as to outrun the fastest runner. 
^Neither of these were very lady-like accomplish- 
ments surely, yet nevertheless they vere very much 
A^alued and highly prized by Lizzie, although they 
were the fruitful source of a great deal of trouble 
and anxiety, both to herself and to her teachers. 
A nmmber of these feats were really so interesting 
and amusing, that they involuntarily impressed 
themselves upon my mind, and are among the re- 
corded memories of my childhood. 

It was a monotonous state of existence these 
schooldays of my young life at Bethlehem ; and I 
marvel not, that the untamed disposition of such a 
restless, uneasy character, as Lizzie Gould, should 
not only have excessively wearied with it, but 
sought in an excitement of its own creating, occa- 
sionally to diversify the scene. For independent 
of its retired situation, the pupils, at that period, 
were kept so secluded from contact and observation 
from outsiders of their little world, that opportuni- 
ties were rare for subjects of interest or excitement, 
save what happened within the precincts of their 
own domiciles, among their ownselves. Hence 
every incident of any note whatever which did take 
place, naturally would make a more durable im- 
pression upon my memory, than if the case had 
been otherwise. And such remembrances have 



186 BY-GONE YEARS. 

been ever cherislied, because of their association 
with this period of my early history, as connected 
with my juvenile walks, sports, pastimes and pur- 
suits. 

How such recollections have fastened upon my 
heart ; and even now as I write, phantom-like these 
visions of the past start out from the treasured re- 
cesses in which they have so long been hid, in the 
chambers of the mind, in all the realities of such a 
perspective view, and appear before me. Though 
distant now, how vividly do they present them- 
selves ; I retrace the pilgrimage of life, and travel 
backward through the vista of bygone intervening 
years, with the lightning speed which a faithful 
memory alone gives, to the period when, as a little 
girl, I first entered upon these scenes, and commen- 
ced the experience of the trials of human existence. 
And as I return thither and take the pen of a truth- 
ful historian, so strongly do they present them- 
selves before my mental vision, that I seem to re- 
live over this portion of my checkered and eventful 
life. 

Then bear with me, kind reader, while I speak 
of these reminiscences, and continue to recount some 
of the passages of the days of my childhood, and 
imagine myself again a school-girl at Bethlehem ; 
as just left the covert of my own loved home, tlie 
sheltering wings of fond parental affection, and 
influence, for this seminary of learning provided by 
the Society for their young people. 



FUN AND FKOLIC. 187 

And now I say, let imagination plume her wings 
and place me there ; and thus I am again at Beth- 
lehem School, where I wish 3'OU to fancy me, at 
present, walking out with my associate roomimates, 
while a little beyond us is the class to which Lizzie 
Gould belongs. She is with them, though a con- 
siderable way ahead of these girls ; indeed so far 
off, that she is no longer visible to us ; yet we in- 
stinctively know she is there — must be with that 
party who started off at such a rapid rate onl}^ a few 
moments ago, among whom there was such a merry 
shout just as they were leaving, and who looked so 
significant and happy, no doubt in the prospect of 
some anticipated fan and frolic. And see ! I cer- 
tainly am right ; for how the rest of this class are 
hastening their steps — it must be to join them — then 
look at those girls, how eagerly they are pressing 
forward, while one of their teachers who accom- 
panies them, is almost out of breath in following 
her charge. And sure enough, in the foremost set 
is Lizzie, and you surely would be certain of this 
fact, did you but get a glimpse of her countenance, 
and mark its expression beaming with its antici- 
]3ated enjoyment; and did you chance to rest your 
eyes upon her companions so full of expectation of 
promised pleasure. 

There ! see ! — they are hastening on very rap- 
idly, evidently towards some wished-for locality. 
Presently they halt — wlien directly there falls upon 
tlie ear a merry shout from that gathered group, 



188 MiscinEF. 

amid an ominous shaking and rattling of various 
branches of trees. Then as you approach, nearer 
and look upward into that tall pear-tree, or may be 
some other kind of fruit or a nut-bearing tree, per- 
haps ujDon its highest limb, you will see the mis- 
chievous girl perched, hard at w^ork, scattering the 
fruit below, for the joint benefit of the whole com- 
pany. 

She remains thus industriously engaged, until 
her companions upon the look-out announce that 
the teacher is in siglit. Then down she springs 
with the greatest possible speed, quite in time to 
meet the dear unsuspecting Sister ; and before she 
can ask any questions, has presented her w^th some 
of the best of her spoil- — for it is against the rules 
of the school to do such naughty tricks, the schol- 
ars being only allowed to gather what has already 
fallen, and never permitted to pick any off from the 
trees. 

It is ever a beautiful sight to see trees laden 
with rich, ripe, mellow fruit; and w^hen within 
reaching distance, the temptation is great to any 
passers-by, to possess themselves of a portion of it : 
but particularly this is the case with a parcel of 
hungry school girls — aye, indeed, sometimes irre 
sistibly so ; especially when they have such a de- 
termined and daring spirit as Lizzie Gould to favor 
the enterprise of getting as much of it as possible. 
In truth, I believe that she always was the first to 
propose ways and means, how she and her compan- 



THE BULL. 189 

ions could manage to evade the laws, in order to 
obtain such forbidden gratifications. 

She used several stratagems to accomplish this 
object, and lost no opportunity in rendering them 
available. Sometimes these were, first, the result 
of accident, and made subservient to her purpose 
until found out ; and when obliged to abandon it, 
she generally had another expedient, ready to sup- 
ply its place. One of the most amusing, as well as 
successful of these devices was the following, which 
impressed itself particularly upon my memory. 

In the pedestrian excursions we frequently took, 
we had one route which many of the scholars pre- 
ferred to any other. It passed a very fine apple or- 
chard, and if I recollect right, it was on the road 
leading to Nazareth, and called E'azareth Lane. It 
BO happened, that one day as a class or two were tak- 
ing their customary walk upon this road, suddenly 
an enraged bull came in sight, bellowing most fear- 
fully, and kicking up the dust before him. The 
animal seemed to be coming towards them, which 
very much frightened both the teacher and schol- 
ars : and in their terror, all climbed over the fence, 
to get as quickly as possible out of his way. 

Here they found themselves in the orchard of 
which I have spoken — and directly after in the 
presence of the owner thereof, a very respectable 
and kind-hearted man, who no sooner saw their ter- 
ror, than he sought to calm it. Besides, with con- 
siderate kindness and generosity, he invited the 



190 A WAY TO GET APPLES. 

whole party, one and all, to walk tlirongh his or- 
chard, and to help themselves to some apples, 
which offer, as may be readily supposed, none re- 
jected: on the contrary, all gladly accepted. Then 
all these girls, at least twenty in number, gathered 
not only enough to eat while there, but as many 
more as they could carry away with them ; in the 
mean while arranging among themselves, how they 
could secure further supplies of apples from this or- 
chard. Hereupon they went to the unsuspecting 
farmer, and thanked him for his kindness ; then beg- 
ged permission to retreat thitlier again, in the event 
of another similar annoyance from the bull, to which 
the good man without any hesitation kindly agreed. 
Poor, dear man ! he little dreamt how much this 
promise involved — for ever after when these girls 
walked that way, which was now more frequently 
than before, it was their wont to send several of 
their number, considerably ahead of the rest, to 
imitate the voice and actions of the bull, in a kick- 
ing up of the dust, with the sound of bu-u-u-u-u, 
bu-u-u-u-u, which immediately followed. It so hap- 
pened, this always occurred just as the majority of 
the class were close by the orcliard of the friendly 
farmer, when there was a simultaneous scream from 
a number of the girls of, " the bull ! the bull ! — 
don't you see the bull ! — dear me, what shall we do 
now ! " — In the meanwhile, with well feigned alarm, 
each of them precipitately tumbled over the good 
man's fence into his orchard, when they unscrupu- 



A SAM PATCH LEAP. 191 

lously helped themselves, filling speedily the bags 
and handkerchiefs which they had brought with 
them for the purpose. This trick succeeded several 
times ere it was discovered : it originated in the fer- 
tile brain of the mischievous Lizzie. 

The next incident regarding her which I mean 
to recount here, was her taking a Sam Patch leap 
from the top of the Lehigh bridge. 

At the period to which I refer, the water w\is 
so low in the river, no one could easily have been 
drowned in it, had they fallen from the bridge. Sev- 
eral classes of the scholars were crossing it together, 
hers among the number, when one of the girls on lean- 
ing over, noticed this fact to her associates, observ- 
ing at the same time, if such an accident should oc- 
cur, it need not excite the least apprehension of 
danger to life as the consequence. Tlien some 
speculation arose as to the probable depth of the 
water ; which Lizzie Gould hearing, called out : — 

" Who dares me? and I will measure it myself! " 

" I do," replied a thoughtless companion. 

In a moment more the reckless Lizzie was upon 
the top — in another she had taken the plunge amid 
the screams and entreaties of her affrighted school- 
mates. The greatest consternation and alarm im- 
mediately ensued among all that gathered group, 
for none of course knew the result, and notwith- 
standing the assertion just made, the general im- 
pression at the moment prevailed, that perhaps by 
this foolish temerity she had actually killed herself; 



192 THE PUMriNG FROLIC. 

but to the infinite relief of all, they soon perceived 
her endeavoring to rise, though evidently in pain. 
She did not however succeed. IS'ext she tried to 
laugh ; but she really suffered too much, conse- 
quently had to give up the attempt. A boat there- 
upon was speedily procured and manned, which 
made for the spot and brought her to shore. If I 
recollect right, she escaped this time without any 
broken limbs, and was not seriously hurt, but only 
had a few bruises, and a sprained ankle. 

Another circumstance in reference to this trouble- 
some and mischievous girl, I think occurred antece- 
dent to the above affair. 

Close by the kitchen of the school, was a reser- 
voir, which supplied all the water used in the 
Institution : it so happened that from some reason 
unknown to me, the w^ater had acquired an un- 
pleasant taste, which caused it to be considered un- 
wholesome. In consequence, our Principal resolved 
to have it all drawn off. He thought this would be 
good exercise, as well as amusement for the girls. 
On this account, he proposed a pumping frolic, when 
each girl wlio chose, could take her turn at the 
pump ; and the whole to be finished off with a feast 
of brown cakes (round-hearts) and apples. This 
proposition the scholars^ generally, gladly acceded 
to, audit resulted in a season of merriment and fun. 

Brother Steinhaur, then the Principal of the 
School (the Inspector, as he was called), together 
with his wife and baby-boy, were there ; and the 



SPORT AND ENJOYMENT. 193 

whole of tliis interesting faraily being very popular 
throughout the school, this circumstance materially 
enchanced the pleasures of the afternoon. And as 
I write, how well can I picture to my mind's eye, 
some of the little incidents of this memorable oc- 
casion — the letting off of the steam of our young 
spirits, if I may be allowed so to express the pleasur- 
able excitement we were in, together with the fre- 
quent explosions of mirth and fun which ensued ; 
and how some of the girls, among w^iom was Lizzie 
Gould, begged one and another of their schoolmates 
to allow them to take their turn in pumping, in ad- 
dition to their own. 

Then how much sport we afterwards had in va- 
rious games and plays ; and how the girls romped 
and enjoyed the cheer provided for tlie occasion, 
which was the promised brown cakes and apples, 
together with some weak sangaree. The latter was 
added, I believe, to prevent bad consequences re- 
sulting from the novel employment in which we 
had been engaged. And then how tired all the 
girls w^ere, and glad to retire to our dormitories, 
where most of us soon after were locked in the 
arms of Morpheus. 

But presently the soundest sleepers were aroused 
from their dreams, and a general awakening oc- 
curred, caused by the most terrific screams imag- 
inable, which increased more and more to a loud 
nnharmonious chorus of many voices. 

"Murder! murder! murder! — oh, what shall I 



194 THE ALARM. 

do! — ^I shall certainly be killed! — oh dear, what 
shall I do ! — Pray save me, save me, I am getting 
murdered ! — Will nobody help me ? " — with other 
similar expressions, were heard from a voice above 
the rest, in wliich others joined in the most piteous 
and distressed tones. 

Tliese fearful sounds originated with the first- 
mentioned voice, and the whole disturbance seemed 
to be in the immediate vicinity of her bed, where 
most of the teachers and a number of the scholars, 
occupants of the apartment, were soon assembled 
in great terror and dismay., There they directly 
saw what appeared to be a long round stick, with 
which some invisible hand was belaboring their un- 
fortunate schoolmate. It came from an aperture 
in the ceiling. It so happened, precisely here, that 
is, directly over the spot where this girl's bed was 
now placed, formerly hung a large lantern. This 
had recently been removed, because the hook was 
fastened in no beam, but only in simple lathing, 
which proved insufficient to sustain it. Indeed the 
plaster in consequence broke considerably, and left 
quite a large hole. They perceived that the stick, 
by whomsoever used, was evidently sent through 
this opening from the story above — a large waste 
apartment, occupied for no other use, than as the 
general trunk-room of the school. 

" But who could be the person to have the 
boldness of doing this thing?" was the question 
asked by all ; for who would venture in that lone 



THE LUCKLESS OFFENDER. 195 

garret, filled with trunks and lumber of various 
kinds, and at sucli an unseasonable hour of the 
night. Could it be some robber ? or a mischievous 
j^erson ? and to what intent were they thus employ- 
ed ? These were natural queries which immediately 
suggested themselves to the minds of many, while 
the more fearful and superstitious opined that, per- 
haps, it was a ghostly visitant, and this one of its 
nocturnal pranks. 

But among both teachers and scholars for a 
space, all were too timid to mount the stairs, and 
go into the trunk-room, in order to ascertain to a 
certainty, who this midnight disturber of the peace 
really was. At length, however, one of the teach- 
ers, more courageous than the rest, proposed, if 
others would join her, to ascend to this place for 
the purpose. Several immediately offered, wdien 
together in company they proceeded upon their 
tour of investigation. They took the light out of 
one of their hall lanterns to enable them to see ; 
also, to assist in their research. As soon as they 
opened the door, they were directed by the sound 
to the spot from whence the alarm came. 

Tliere, they immediately saw a young female 
who w^as the luckless offender. They found her 
seated in the inside of an old rickety chest, with a 
broom in her hand, the handle of which she had 
forced through the aperture, and j)iishing it up and 
down verj'- rapidly, and with the greatest diligence. 
On nearing this fearful object, they soon recognized 



196 SOMNAMBULISM. 

it to be no other than Lizzie Gould. She had her 
eyes wide open, but apparently did not notice their 
approach. 

" Why, Lizzie Gould ! is it possible it is you 
who have been frightening us all, almost to death ! 
Why, what is the matter with you ; and what has 
poor Fanny done, that you are pommelHng her 
after this strange fashion? Say, why don't you 
speak — stop instantly, I tell you ! " 

But to all these queries, there was at first no 
answer ; at last she said : 

" Why, I am pumping, ma'am ! Don't you 
see, I'm pumping, ma'am ? " and then resumed 
her w^ork. 

"Nonsense!" said the teacher, "come down 
directly and go to bed." 

But Lizzie continued plying the broom-handle 
vigorously, apparently not heeding what she said. 
The teacher then held the light close to her eyes to 
ascertain if she was really asleep ; for she, as well 
as those with her, were still incredulous in the mat- 
ter. As she did not directly blink, they were sat- 
isfied that there was no pretence about it. They 
thereupon shook her ; and this, together with the 
light, and the voices around her, soon aroused the 
child ; and thus this afiair ended. 

At another time, she put her companions in a 
fright, by screaming out in her sleep, that she was 
on fire; and several times by walking about the 
doiTQitory, and occasionally passing her hand over 



THE ACCIDENT. 197 

the faces of one and another of her sleeping school- 
mates. These propensities were a great annoyance, 
and gave considerable trouble ; but of the latter one, 
however, somnambulism, I believe, they succeeded 
in curing her — at least, the means they used proved 
an effectual remedy while she remained in the In- 
stitution. They placed a tub of cold water by the 
side of her bed, which, when she stepped into, al- 
ways directly awakened her. Yet this had to be 
done after she was asleep, or it proved of no avail 
whatever ; for if she knew to a certainty of this 
vessel being there, she would carefully avoid put- 
ting her foot into it. 

But this witch of a girl did many more queer 
things while she stayed at Bethlehem, yet only one 
more will I mention, which resulted in causing 
greater alarm on her account, than any thing else 
which I can remember concerning her. 

She climbed up into a crab-apple tree, w^hicli 
was on an unenclosed lot near Squire Horsefield's 
house, and, if I recollect right, situated on the very 
brink of a hill which overlooked Water street, and 
the mill-stream below. But she happened to get 
upon a branch not sufficiently strong to bear her 
weight. In consequence, she had scarcely perched 
herself upon it ere she found it cracking under her, 
and both were speedily rolling down the declivity 
to the bottom, which brought her close to the river. 
Quite a number of persons saw the accident, and with 
anxious fear, they gathered around her, when they 



198 REMOVAL FEOM SCHOOL. 

directly perceived that the poor girl was really 
badly hurt. She could not move, and groaned 
terribly. Some one immediately ran for the doc- 
tor, while another went to Brother Steinhanr, and 
both were npon the spot as qnickly as possible. 
The former discovered, that, besides being consid- 
erably bruised, she had fractured two limbs. I 
think they were an arm and a leg. 

As quickly after as it could be done, Brother 
Steinhaur had arranged with two strong men, who 
took Lizzie under their charge, and carefully con- 
veyed her to the sick room of the Institution, where 
she was long confined to her bed, when her wild 
nature, for the time being, became considerably 
Bubdued. Yet, as soon as she got sufiiciently better 
to sit up, her natural gayety of spirits, together with 
inclination to mischief, returned. Indeed, she was 
so lively and pleasant, so full of funny sayings and 
drolleries, as to cause infinite amusement to all who 
came about her. But when she had entirely re- 
covered, uj)on the representation of the Principal, 
her friends removed her from the school. 

" Yet remember, Lizzie Gould, that we all love 
you," said one of her kind teachers at parting ; 
" but it is best, my dear child, that you leave us ; 
far better than to remain here, and perhaps break 
your neck." 



DADDY THOMAS. 

There is scarcely an individual living, wlio so- 
journed any length of time at Betlilelieni during 
the first quarter of this century, and for many years 
antecedent to it, especially those who were at all 
interested in the school, either as visitor or pupil, 
but must, methinks, have seen, if not made the ac- 
quaintance of this venerable, excellent old man ; 
for he was one of the natural curiosities of the j)lace, 
also the appointed guide of the stranger through 
the town — a living chronicler of its history from 
the very commencement — besides the glad messen- 
ger to the girls of the arrival of their respective 
friends, as well as the bearer of their letters, to and 
from the Post Office. 

I have been told,. he made himself very popular 
with all classes of society by his primitive simpli- 
city of character, excessive good humor, and socia- 
bility of disposition ; but with none probably was 
he such a favorite as with the scholars generally, 
who called him Daddy. Indeed he was the Daddy 



200 THE DADDY OF DADDIES. 

of Daddies among the Daddies of Betlileliem to all 
the young folks there. It being an appellation so 
universally bestowed upon him, that he was known 
by no other ; and he richly merited this fatherly 
title, on account of his kind parental manner, though 
he never had any children of his own. 

I believe he followed the trade of a carpenter, 
and worked industriously at this business when not 
engaged in the official duties I have specified. He 
was an illiterate, but not an ignorant man ; for he 
possessed considerable of that knowledge w^hich is 
better than human learning, and only to be obtain- 
ed in the school of Christ. Besides, the Daddy 
possessed a tolerable good memory, which he had 
well stored with the ecclesiastical history of his 
church, especially that portion of it, as I just in- 
timated, referring more particularly to the settle- 
ment of Bethlehem — and being very familiar with 
every nook and corner of the place, could give an 
account of all its inhabitants from the oldest to the 
youngest — besides, knew numerous anecdotes of the 
people, also of the customs and manners which 
marked the early history of that town. These va- 
rious circumstances made him altogether a very 
desirable companion to the stranger at Bethlehem, 
who had become interested, and wished to obtain 
correct information upon the subject. 

In fact, my impression of him is, that he was 
truly a primitive Moravian, such as I love to fancy 
the fathers of the modern church of the Society ; 



DELINEATION OF CHARACTEK. 201 

simple in his habits, possessing fervent and child- 
like piety of trusting faith, and full of charity and 
kindly feelings to everybody. Added to this, he 
maintained that peculiar quaintness of style of 
dress, speech, manner and way of thinking, which 
used to characterize the members of this denomina- 
tion ; yet with this difference, that they were prac- 
tised by him in several respects more irregularly 
than usual, owing to some little eccentricities ap- 
pertaining to the good man himself. 

I allude particularly to his general appearance, 
to which he gave less attention than was iisual 
among their people. Indeed he cared so little about 
the outward adornings of his person, that, although 
I do not like to acknowledge it, from the respect 
and love I bear his memory, yet truth compels me 
to admit that the good old Daddy was inclined to 
be somewhat careless with respect to himself. In 
consequence of this infirmity, or rather eccentricity 
of character, his wife, as long as she lived, and 
afterwards his adopted daughter, considered it a 
necessary duty whenever he was called upon to ac- 
company visitors through the place, to take it upon 
themselves to put him in a proper condition for the 
purpose. I have been informed that very good- 
naturedly he submitted, like a well trained child, 
to be washed, combed, brushed, dressed and bar- 
berized, in order to be presentable for the occasion; 
to look smart to the grand folk, as he used to term 
his fashionable company. And these were the pre- 
9* 



202 THE DADDY AND THE LITTLE GIRLS. 

parations usually made with our dear old Daddy, 
when about attending to his official duties. 

I knew him only a few years before his decease, 
at the very close of his life. At this period, in conse- 
quence of his advanced age, he had become exceed 
ingly feeble, which of course incapacitated him 
from attending to any business whatever, and fully 
prepared and perfectly willing, he was calmly wait- 
ing the summons to his eternal rest. His wife, I be- 
lieve, had long since died, which left him altogether 
in the charge of the adoj^ted daughter I mentioned, 
who was the child of a deceased missionary of the 
church. This duty, methinks, must have been quite 
agreeable, since, notwithstanding his infirmities, the 
Daddy continued amiable, affectionate, and cheerful. 
In addition, like kind-hearted people generally, he 
retained his partiality for children, and maintained 
his ]3opularity among them by his pleasantries to- 
wards them. With the little girls especially, he 
w^as a great ftivorite. They were always pleased to 
pass his door in the hope of seeing him, or to en- 
counter him in their walks, when, as soon as they 
espied the good old man, they w^ere wont to run np 
to him, while many of their voices would simulta- 
neously shout out, " Daddy Thomas ! dear old Dad- 
dy, how do you do ? " 

This exclamation would immediately cause him 
to halt, turn his head in the direction thy were, 
and in a very tremulous voice reply, " Well, well, 
who is it that axes for me ? you know my sight is 
erettins: dim now." 



FORBIDDEN FRUIT. 203 

" It is US, Daddy ! dear Daddy ! " 

" Whatty, whatty, my dear children ! I am right 
glad to see you ; " then leaning his aged and worn- 
out frame for support upon his staif, he would smile 
as he surveyed the gathering of young laces around 
him. " The Lord bless you, my dear children ; 
your presence is right welcome to my old eyes," 
after which, taking the hand of each, he cordially 
pressed it, and said some more kind words ; and it 
may be he did this to some whom he had never seen 
before, and who joined the others of their school- 
mates, either from curiosity, or the better motive of 
seeking the kindly notice and benediction of this 
excellent old Daddy. 

"But, dear Daddy, how are you, really? pretty 
well, I hope ! " 

" Yes, pretty and well both, my dear children ; 
and you all are so too, I see." 

" But do kiss us, dear Daddy, won't you ? " 

" Why I don't know that I can, my dear ; it is 
against our rules, it is forbidden fruit, my child ; 
and I may be hauled over the coals if I do," was 
sometimes the answer, which would make the girls 
laugh. 

" E'ever fear. Daddy Thomas, we will prevent 
that, for none of us will tell." 

And then it was amusing how the old man 
would pretend to be really afraid that he would 
run the risk of getting himself into trouble should 
he do so ; and would look anxiously around to see 



204r THE STOLEN KISS. 

if any person belonging to tlie Society were observ- 
ing him. 

" But we must have a kiss, dear Daddy, indeed 
we must have one." 

" Well then, there is no other way but to steal 
it, my dear children," holding his cheek to us the 
while. Thereupon we all did kiss the venerable 
old man, though perhaps his beard was full an inch 
long. 

I remember sometimes he answered our inquiries 
concerning himself by saying : " I am pretty hearty 
considering how well stricken in years I am ; " or, 
" you see I am here yet, and as long as I can, I shall 
be glad to see you, my dear children ; and I feel 
weaker and weaker, but yet strong enough to shake 
hands with you all ; " and then after, " The Lord 
bless you all," we would leave him, and he would 
totter away, his aged and withered form bent over 
with the weight of about four- score years, leaning 
heavily upon his cane. 

This good old man, besides being one of the 
curiosities of the place at this time, also, a connect- 
ing link with a past generation of the olden times of 
the church, its customs and its people, was a great 
attraction to visitors, many of whom had heard of 
him from relations and friends who had been there 
years before, and had made his acquaintance. But 
presently we did not meet him any more, the rea- 
son being, that increasing feebleness so impaired 
his powers of locomotion as to prevent it. 



THE ARRIVAL. 205 

But notwithstanding so infirm in body, the men- 
tal powers of the Daddy remained unclouded, 
though somewhat impaired by his extreme old age. 
Yet he continued serene and happy in mind, and 
was still a cheerful and entertaining companion. 
But his memory, as miglit have beeii expected, 
failed considerably. It must have been about this 
time, and I think not long before he died, that the 
following circumstance occurred. 

He was sitting eating one of his meals, probably 
his dinner, and just engaged in picking a bone, 
when the door of his apartment opened to receive a 
party of visitors, consisting of a gentleman and 
lady with several children. They were non-i-esi- 
dents, and had but recently arrived in the place. 

As soon as they had entered, the lady, who was 
elegantly dressed, quickened her pace, and ad- 
vanced to the old man, saying in delightful tones : 
"Is this dear old Daddy Thomas ? " at the same 
moment smiling and extending her hand. 

The Daddy dropped his bone upon the plate, and 
looked up at the speaker. " Yes, my child, it is 
the Daddy ; but my sight is so poor now, and my 
memory is getting so bad, that I really do not know 
who you are." 

"I will certainly excuse you for that, Daddy 
Thomas," replied the lady, " for it is really such a 
long time since you have seen me, that I could 
scarcely hope that you would be able to recognize 
me, at least in appearance ; and I am very much 



206 THE LADY. 

changed since then, for I was but a child at that 
time. But don't you remember little Lina? " 

" Lina," repeated the old man, " Lina ; " then 
shook his head and remained a space lost in thought. 

" Yes, Lina," said the lady, " the little girl 
whose papa and mamma pleased you so much with 
the snuff-box full of snuff, and the tea which they 
brought you. Don't you remember this ? " 

But the Daddy's mind continued in a haze upon 
the subject, and he did not answer. The lady how- 
ever continued : 

" Don't you recollect liow 3^ou went with us 
through the Sisters' House, their garden, and the 
church ? and besides, showed us the first house built 
in Bethlehem, and the place or bed, I forget which, 
where Count Zinzendorf usuially slept when he was 
here, and some other things which at 2:)resent I can- 
not recall to my mind. Dear Daddy, surely you 
do not forget all this ? Now don't you remember 
me ? " 

" Perhaps so," said the venerable man, hesitat- 
ingly. " It may be that I will after awhile, my 
child ; but I cannot say certainly that I do so yet." 

'* Oh, do try, dear Daddy Thomas, for I cannot 
bear to think that I have entirely passed from your 
remembrance." 

" Well, I really do not yet know if I can ; " but 
as he said this, he fixed his eyes upon the coun- 
tenance of a little girl opposite, and seemed to re- 
gard her with considerable attention. 



LITTLE LINA. 207 

A thought sucklenly passed tliroiigh the hadj^'s 
mind. Hereupon she beckoned the child to her. 

" Perhaps," she continued, " this cliild will as- 
sist your memory, as she is now about the same 
age, and said to look very much as I did at that 
time." 

Tlie little girl was placed in a way so as to af- 
ford the best possible view of her. Then suddenl}^ 
the old man's countenance lit up with intelligence, 
and placing his hand upon the shoulder of the lady, 
he exclaimed : 

" Oh, now I remember ! you are talking about 
my little friend Lina ! is that her ? " 

" Oh no ! " said the lady, " but a child of hers. 
I am Lina, and these are my children ; and this is 
my husband, Mr. C. 

" Oh, now I understand ! " replied the Daddy. 
Whereupon the gentleman shook hands w^ith the 
old man, and so did the children ; then he kissed 
the latter, all in turn, notwithstanding his greasy 
mouth and hands, for in the excitement of the mo- 
ment, he had forgotten to wipe either ; and worse 
than all in consequence, he had left the mark of his 
fingers upon the beautiful and costly cashmere 
shawl which the lady had on. 

Yes, there it was upon the shoulder, the whole 
of that venerable hand ; and so conspicuously de- 
veloped, that it did not escape the observation of 
even the old Daddy himself, who seemed very 
much mortified at the circumstance. As soon as 



208 THE PRINT OF THE DEAR OLD HAND. 

the lady perceived this, she very good-naturedly 
made light of the occurrence ; and his feelings were 
calmed by her repeated assurance that it was no 
matter at all ; and upon his asking whether the 
stain could be removed by washing, she only smiled 
as she replied, *' that she did not care whether it 
could or not, nor did she mean to try ; indeed she 
considered her shawl now more valuable than ever, 
since it had the print of dear old Daddy Thomas's 
good old hand upon it." 

This is a well-substantiated anecdote ; and I 
have no doubt of the truth of it, in all its essential 
particulars. 

Daddy Thomas died, I believe, only a short 
time after it occurred, and his end corresponded 
with liis tranquil, peaceful, and inoffensive life. 



THE END. 



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Neander. History of the Christian Religion and Church, 
during the First Three Centuries. By Dr. Augustus 
Neander. Translated from the German, by Henry John 
Rose, D. D. Third Edition. Svo., $1.75. 



H 55- 78 ii 



4 Pv. 




